# Born Bad

Josephine Cox

The powerful bestseller from the nation’s favourite storyteller and author of The Loner and The JourneyHarry always knew he would go back one day …Eighteen years ago, he made a hard decision that drove him from the place he loved. Since then, he carved out a life for himself and found a semblance of peace, yet he is still haunted by the warm, carefree girl with the laughing eyes.For Judy Saunders, the pain of her past has left her deeply scarred. Cut off from her family and trapped in a loveless marriage, the distant memories of her first love are her only source of comfort in a dark and dangerous world.Years later, Harry is heading back. Excited, afraid and racked with guilt, he has little choice. He must confront the past, and seek forgiveness.

### JOSEPHINE COX


### Born Bad


## Copyright

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

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2009

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

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

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

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007221172

Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007290048

Version: 2019–07–12

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## Praise for Josephine Cox

‘This is vintage Cox. Passionate and touching, an irresistible read. It’s a perfect book to while away an afternoon. Just make sure you hide Born Bad away from your mum and grandmother because they’ll love it too’

News of the World

‘The latest emotionally charged story from the mega-selling author won’t disappoint her army of fans’ Bella

‘Cox’s talent as a storyteller never lets you escape the spell’

Daily Mail

‘Another masterpiece’ Best

‘A born storyteller’ Bedfordshire Times

‘Any regular readers of Josephine Cox will tell you that the second you start to read one of her books you are actually living the scenario along with the characters’

Sue Brunton

## Dedication

This book is for my Ken, as always

## Epigraph

To all the caring people in my life;family, friends and business colleagues,I give my wholehearted thanks and huge love

For my lovely sister Win who has showndetermination and courage in a difficult situation.Love you loads, sweetheart, take care, Josie x

## Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Praise for Josephine Cox

Dedication

Epigraph

PART ONE Weymouth, July 1956 Love Hurts

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

PART TWO Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956 Man and Boy

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

PART THREE Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956 Strangers

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

PART FOUR Fisher’s Hill, Autumn 1956 Dangerous Love

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

PART FIVE Bedfordshire, Late Autumn 1956 The Price of Sin

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

## PART ONE

Weymouth, July 1956

Love Hurts

## Chapter One

HARRY BLAKE FELT as though he was the last man on earth. It was a lonely, disturbing feeling.

In this rare moment of quiet, the long-ago memories were like moving pictures in his tortured mind; vivid, aching memories of love and loss, of pain and joy and the people and places that had shaped his life so far.

Even now, in this moment of solitude, with the soothing throb of the ocean in his ears and the bright sunshine bouncing off the water, he could not rest easy.

Today was one of those perfect July days when the heart soars and dreams are allowed.

But not for Harry. Not today. Maybe never again.

All about him, ordinary people were enjoying their ordinary lives. Above him, the seagulls mewed and swooped, and sounds of laughter echoed across the sands. Harry was oblivious to all of that.

This was a day for families, a day for fun and being together. But not for him, and not for her. No amount of laughter or sunshine could change what was happening in his life.

He had no say in the events unfolding. Events which, in a few short months, had changed his world – and that of his loved ones. Only once before had he felt so lost and alone, and that was many years ago when he was a fresh-faced lad of eighteen.

Back then, he had made a decision which had haunted him ever since; a hard decision, forced on him by youth and circumstance. Because of his decision, lives had been fractured – including his own – and for that he would always blame himself.

Today though, he was caught up in a completely different nightmare. This time, he had played no part in its creation, because unlike before, he had no way of influencing the outcome. This time, it was all too final. Too cruel.

Deep in thought, his gaze absentmindedly followed the sailing-boats. Wending their way through Weymouth Harbour, their tall white sails billowing as they thrust along on the crest of a gentle breeze, they were a magnificent sight.

Vaguely aware of the playful children building castles in the sand, a kind of rage cut like a blade through his heart. She should be here, he thought. Sharing it all with us.

He could see her now, the chocolate-brown hair and the pretty dark eyes that crinkled in the corners when she laughed, her long slender legs swinging as she perched on their garden wall, and her smiling eyes uplifted to the sunshine.

Sara was a good woman, a woman of kindness and humour, and now, for reasons he would never understand, something had happened. It was happening right now, at this very moment. Relentless and unforgiving, it would go on until the end.

Nothing he could do would halt the inevitable.

‘Daddy!’ The little boy’s voice cut across his dark thoughts. ‘Please may I have an ice cream?’

Composing himself, Harry turned and nodded.

Excited, the boy jumped up and down. ‘And can I have strawberry sauce?’

‘Go on then.’ Harry wondered at the way life could still go on, when inside, his world was falling apart. ‘Here’s a shilling. Try not to get it all over your shirt.’

Pushing the chocolate-flake into the ice cream, the big man serving behind the beachfront café counter passed the cornet to the boy, joking, ‘Your daddy doesn’t want an ice cream, then?’

Holding the cornet carefully with both hands, Tom curled his tongue along the ice cream. ‘He can share mine if he likes!’

‘’Spect he’s got his mind on other things, eh?’ Leaning down to hand the nipper his threepenny bit change, the man glanced across at Harry, thinking how sad the young fella looked. He could only have been in his thirties, yet he was bent and haggard like an old man. Curious, the older man observed Harry a moment longer, before turning away to serve his other customers.

A few moments later, still heavy of heart yet openly smiling and chatting for his son’s sake, Harry led Tom along the Esplanade and on towards where the car was parked near the statue of George III. ‘Are we going to see Mammy now?’ the boy asked eagerly.

Harry took a moment to answer, his gaze sweeping the child’s appearance. His thick mop of dark hair stood up as though in fright, and the pink strawberry sauce was plastered around his mouth. Oh, how he loved this child, and Sara … his Sara … his precious, wonderful Sara!

Swamped with emotion, he took the boy by the hand and ran him across the road.

‘Just look at the state of you!’ he said huskily. ‘We’d best clean you up, before your mammy sees you.’

Slurping on his ice cream, the boy ran and skipped, laughing heartily while his father pretended to chase him.

The boy did not fully realize the situation, but things had begun to change some time ago, when he had sensed a sadness in his parents. When he was near they smiled and pretended that everything was all right. But when they thought he was not looking, they would hold each other for a long time and never let go. Then his mammy went off to hospital, and the house felt so lonely without her.

When, just now, the sadness touched him, he thought of Jack.

Jack was a frog he had caught from the brook in his long-handled net.

He loved that frog; he fed it and cared for it, and even made a little pool for it to swim in, with plants to hide under, and when he called its name it would come hopping out to see him. One day, Jack went away and he never saw him again.

Tom was upset for a time. Then his daddy got him another frog who looked exactly like Jack, and that was fine. He remembered it clearly. When he was sad about Jack, his daddy had put it right, so now whenever he was sad, he believed his daddy would put that right too.

There was nothing to fear, no one to hurt him, because his daddy was here. In Tom’s little world everything was warm and wonderful, and that was how it should be.

As they walked on, Harry chatted to his son, and for a while his heart was quieter. His world had crumbled about him, but so far, the child had been protected.

‘Daddy, look!’ The boy brought Harry’s attention to the flower barrow. ‘Yellow roses.’

Remembering, Harry smiled. ‘Mammy’s favourites,’ he mused aloud. If she could have red, pink or yellow roses, she would always choose the yellow ones.

‘Can we take her some?’

Leading the boy to the stall, Harry fished a handful of coins from his trouser-pocket. ‘Why don’t we get her a dozen, eh?’

A short time later, the two of them were nearly back at the car, Harry deep in thought, and the boy alongside, clutching the bunch of roses in one hand and his melting ice cream in the other.

With his sticky fingers, the boy threw the remains of the cornet to the seagulls. When they quickly swooped down and carried it away in their sharp beaks, the child was fearful. ‘You won’t let them hurt me, will you?’

Harry reassured him. ‘I would never let anyone hurt you.’ Lifting the boy into his arms, he inwardly cringed at the knowledge that soon, the boy would hurt like never before.

As he was bundled into the Hillman Minx, Tom asked, ‘Are we really taking Mammy home today?’

‘Yes, son.’ Starting the ignition, Harry fought back his tears. ‘Your mammy’s waiting for us right now, so we’d best get a move on.’ He cleared his throat.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes, son?’

‘Why did Mammy send us away today?’

As he moved off from the kerb and into the traffic, Harry recalled how Sara had been adamant that she needed a little time, that she wasn’t ready and they must come back later. ‘I think she wanted to make herself look pretty for us,’ he said eventually, and smiled to himself.

His darling wife could be a bossy tramp when needed!

‘When we get Mammy, can we go to the park?’

‘That would be nice, but I don’t think so – not today, son.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’ Harry swallowed hard before going on. ‘Maybe we’d best leave it for another day.’

‘Look, Daddy! New baby ducks.’

‘I know, and I’m sure Mammy would love to do that, but … like I said, another day, eh?’

‘She will like her roses though, won’t she?’

Harry nodded.

‘Can we go to the park for my birthday next week then?’

‘Mmm.’ Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere.

The boy took his dad’s mumble as a yes. ‘Mammy said she’s got five candles for my cake. I’m a big boy now.’

Harry smiled wistfully. ‘You certainly are.’

‘I’m starting school next week.’

‘Not next week,’ Harry gently reminded him. ‘It’s next term – in September.’

‘Oh.’ The boy was downhearted.

‘Hey, Tom, don’t be like that.’ Harry glanced at the boy in his mirror. ‘It’s only a few weeks away. It’ll be here before you know it.’

The boy grinned. ‘I’ve got my red cap – and my black blazer,’ he said proudly.

Harry played along. ‘Soon you’ll be all grown up.’ He recalled the day when Sara went shopping with Tom for his uniform, and how excited their son had been. Dear God! That was such a short time ago. So much had happened in between, it seemed like a lifetime.

His thoughts retreated into the past. They say your bad deeds come home to haunt you. Was it true? he thought. When he had caused all that pain eighteen years ago, was the payback always lurking in the shadows?

Deep down, he had always known his past would return with a vengeance. After all, it was what he deserved.

But Sara did not deserve it.

And neither did their son.

For one sorry, fleeting moment, someone else crossed his mind – a girl named Judy.

Flooded with guilt, he thrust her from his mind. That was a lifetime ago.

And this was now.

The nurse was a happy young thing, with dark expressive eyes and a broad Scottish accent.

‘Just look at yourself,’ she said, holding the mirror up to Sara’s face. ‘See how bonny you are.’

While Sara checked herself in the mirror, the nurse went on, ‘Nurse Bridget has done a fantastic job with you. She knows more about make-up and fashion than I could learn in a lifetime.’

‘And I’m very grateful.’ Sara could not believe the difference in her appearance.

Nurse McDonald chatted on. ‘You do know she’s off to a fancy job as a make-up artist in one o’ them posh London salons? Apparently, when she was a bairn, she always wanted to be either a nurse or a beauty consultant. It was her dad who persuaded her to go in for the nursing. “Nurses are always in demand,” he told her, “so you’ll never be out of a job”.’

She groaned. ‘Have ye ever known a man not to interfere?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she chatted on, ‘Bridget reckons her dad’s a born interferer, like all men, always thinking they know best.’

Sara was sympathetic. ‘Dads are like that. I suppose he was only thinking of Bridget though. It sounds like he really wanted her to have a solid future.’

‘Aye … could be. Anyway, she’s leaving on Friday, and she’s happy as Larry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for her, but at the same time I can’t help but envy her. There she’ll be, dabbling in cosmetics and meeting rich, famous people. And there’ll be me – stuck here changing beds and emptying bedpans.’

Sara smiled at that. ‘Ah, come on, Aileen. You would never want to be anything but a nurse, would you?’

During her long and gruelling stay in hospital, Sara had come to know this kindly girl, and like all the other patients she had great respect for the staff who cared for them; each and every one a true professional. But Aileen McDonald was special; a dedicated nurse, born to care for others.

Sara reminded her now. ‘You may not realise it, but you have a real gift … a magical way that puts us all at ease.’ She glanced about the ward. ‘There isn’t one single patient here who doesn’t love you.’

The other young woman glowed with pride. ‘Do you really think so?’

Sara nodded. ‘Ask anyone here, and they’ll tell you.’

‘So, I’m good at being a nurse but I’m a real dunce at make-up, is that what you’re trying to say?’

Sara chuckled. ‘We’re all gifted in different ways. Nurse Bridget has the talent to brighten a patient’s face, while you have the God-given talent to brighten a patient’s spirits.’

Embarrassed and humbled by Sara’s remark, Nurse Aileen gave her a peck on the cheek, ‘Alright,’ she conceded, ‘I’ll admit, I’m no genius when it comes to make-up … in fact, sometimes when I’m in a rush, I can’t even put my lipstick on straight, and once when I was in an almighty rush, I got on the bus with one eyebrow plucked and the other looking like a shaggy dog. When I got out my mirror and tweezers to finish the job, I got some very peculiar looks I can tell you!’

Laughing at that, Sara then reached forward from her wheelchair and picked up the hand mirror from the bedcover where she had lain it. Taking a second glance at herself, she said, ‘I still can’t believe that’s me!’

The discreet sweep of mascara and eyebrow pencil made her brown eyes appear bright and sparkling, whereas before they had been dull and lifeless. Also, the delicate mask of cream foundation skilfully hid the dark hollows beneath her eyes, making her look even younger than her thirty-two years. Amazingly, with careful use of tinted face powder, Nurse Bridget had somehow managed to flush Sara’s pale skin into a soft pink glow.

Ravaged by a debilitating illness and the harsh, invasive treatment over the past months, Sara’s long flowing locks were gone, and in their place was a cap of fine, closely cropped hair.

This morning, Nurse Bridget had done her best to breathe life into it, and now, after much tweaking and brushing, she had created the illusion of a natural shine. Moreover, when the wispy ends were trimmed away, the hair appeared thick and healthy.

Admiring her transformation, Sara patted the beautiful burgundy-coloured dress she was wearing. ‘I do love this dress,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t you think my Harry has good taste?’

Nurse Aileen nodded approvingly at the dress with its boatneckline and pretty buttons, and the clever blouson design that hid the pathetically thin shape beneath. ‘I think you look wonderful,’ she said, ‘and yes, your Harry does have good taste.’

Nurse Aileen recalled how thrilled and excited both Harry and his son had been, earlier that morning. ‘We can’t wait to take you home, sweetheart,’ Harry told Sara.

‘We’ve got cake and everything!’ the boy informed her. ‘Daddy’s made a surprise for you. He’s built a special place in the garden where you can sit.’

‘Tom!’ Harry had groaned. ‘You weren’t supposed to tell. It’s not a surprise any more now, is it?’

When Tom looked downcast, Harry had hugged him hard. ‘It’s all right, son. All that matters is that Mammy likes it.’

Tom jumped up and down. ‘You will, won’t you, Mammy?’

Sara promised that she would love it.

Harry and Sara had laughed at his innocent antics, while the nurse had looked on, her heart sore. She had seen the pain in Harry’s eyes, and sensed his anguish, which he somehow managed to hide whenever Sara was watching.

‘He’s handsome too, don’t you think?’ Sara’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘He certainly is,’ the nurse agreed.

Sara’s mood grew serious. ‘Life is so unfair, isn’t it?’ she asked softly. Then, even before Nurse Aileen could answer, she swiftly changed the subject. ‘So?’ Her smile was quick and bright, though her voice was quivering. ‘You really like the dress he chose?’

Nurse Aileen played along. ‘Aha, I really do,’ she answered truthfully. ‘That burgundy colour is so right for you, and the belt is perfect.’ Wide and hugging, the shiny black belt gave Sara the illusion of shape.

Close to tears, Sara thanked her. ‘I feel like a real woman.’

‘That’s because you are a real woman,’ Aileen told her. ‘Don’t you ever forget that.’

Sara gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘You’re such a good friend. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.’ She had not forgotten the endless hours this dear, devoted girl had spent talking with her, exchanging secrets and making her laugh through the pain.

‘Sara?’ the nurse’s gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you make me send them away earlier – Harry and Tom?’

Sara gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘Just for once, I didn’t want them to see me looking pale and ill.’ She paused, her dark eyes swimming with tears. ‘I know it can’t last, but thanks to you and Nurse Bridget, just for a while I can pretend there is still something of the woman I once was.’

Her voice broke as she remembered how it had been. ‘I so much want Harry to look at me and see the girl he married … even if it’s only for a few fleeting moments.’

Nurse McDonald had noticed how Sara was fidgeting. ‘You don’t need to be in pain,’ she reminded her again. ‘I can give you something to make you more comfortable.’

Sara shook her head. ‘Not today.’ Her quick little smile was incredibly beautiful. ‘Today, I mean to be fully conscious and strong. I need my family to see past the illness, and imagine me as I used to be.’

Bowing her head she spoke in a whisper, as though to herself: ‘If they can do that, this effort will all have been worthwhile.’

The nurse quietly persisted. ‘All the same, Harry would not want you to punish yourself.’

Sara reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘Won’t you just be happy for me? I’m going home! After all these weeks, I can’t believe I’m really going home.’

She took a moment to let herself believe it. ‘Time with my family will be so precious … to listen and talk, and laugh with them.’ When a rogue tear escaped down her cheek, she quickly brushed it aside. ‘You do know what I mean, don’t you?’

Filled with admiration, Nurse Aileen McDonald assured her that she understood. And she did.

During her time on this ward, she had witnessed much suffering, but this time, because of Sara’s relative youth and selfless determination, she felt a deep anger at life’s cruelty.

Seeing how the little nurse had fallen into a sombre mood, Sara quickly rebuked her. ‘You mustn’t be sad,’ she chided. ‘Think how lucky I’ve been in my life. How many women have had the good fortune to know the love and devotion of a fine man? I’ve been blessed with a wonderful son and, until only recently, I have never known real pain; but even that is a small price to pay. So, please, Nurse Aileen, no being sad, and no crying – not for me!’

‘Has anybody ever told you how bossy you are?’ Aileen quipped.

Sara laughed aloud. ‘Harry tells me that all the time,’ she admitted happily. ‘He calls me a bossy tramp, but what do I care? Look at me … I’m being cosseted, and I feel beautiful! Most of all, I’m able to refuse the treatment, so I can enjoy the company of the two people I love most in all the world for one whole day at home.’ Aware of the other woman’s concern, she looked up apologetically. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

The nurse shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want, who am I to argue? But I need a promise from you.’

‘What kind of promise?’

‘Let me come home with you. I’ve talked with Matron and your doctor, and they have given their permission.’

‘No!’ Sara was adamant. ‘We’ve already been through this, and the answer is still no.’

‘Very well, but,’ Nurse McDonald held up the paper bag in her hand, ‘you must keep these close to you at all times. If the pain gets too bad, they’ll help you cope, until you get back here.’

Sara’s gaze was drawn to the big blue cross on the side of the bag. She knew what it contained, and she hoped the powerful medication would not be needed until she got back here at six o’clock, as agreed. ‘Hmh! I can see I’m not the only bossy tramp round here.’

‘Exactly right!’ The nurse wagged a finger. ‘You would do well to remember that.’ Taking control of the wheelchair, she thrust it forward. ‘Until six o’clock tonight, then, and not a minute later, mind. I’ll be right here, waiting for you to come back through that door.’

Sara laughed. ‘I don’t doubt that for one minute,’ she joked.

As the two of them wended their way along the ward, the other patients waved, and wished her well. ‘You behave yourself now,’ they merrily instructed. ‘No gallivanting, and no giving that handsome husband of yours a hard time!’

‘Have a lovely day, m’dear.’ Miss Bateman was formidable and difficult, and normally she kept herself to herself. On this occasion though, she felt the need to be gracious.

‘See you later, pet.’ That was Alice Arnold, a kindly soul, recovering from pneumonia. ‘Give that little lad of yours a big hug from me!’

The well-meaning advice continued, lighting her way, until the ward doors closed behind her.

When they reached the reception area, Sara carefully scribbled her signature onto the prepared documents.

‘Are you really sure you want to do this, Sara?’ The young doctor understood her reason for wanting to spend a normal day with her family, and he was reluctant to spoil it. But he was not happy with the situation.

‘It is what I want to do,’ she smiled up at him, ‘more than anything else in the world.’

He nodded his acknowledgement, because if he spoke he might show his emotion, and that would not be professional.

‘Sara has her medication.’ Nurse McDonald pre-empted his next question.

‘Do you have the direct ward number,’ he looked down at Sara, ‘in case your husband needs to contact us?’

She patted the pretty blue handbag that Harry had delivered only that morning. ‘It’s all in here,’ she assured him. ‘But I’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

‘Very well. Have a lovely day, and we’ll see you back here this evening.’ Deeply humbled, the young man strode away. There was little else he could do.

Having arrived at the hospital, Harry swung the car into the one remaining parking place. ‘Come on, little fella.’ He lifted Tom out of the car. ‘Your mammy’s waiting for you.’

When Tom caught sight of Sara, waiting in her wheelchair at the entrance, there was no holding him. ‘Mammy! Mammy!’ Arms open, he ran to her, brimming with tales and needing a hug.

Harry could not take his eyes off Sara. ‘You look so beautiful!’

For the first time in an age, he could see the girl he had married; that glowing girl with the wide, wonderful smile, and those quiet brown eyes. ‘You look … stunning!’ Try as he might, Harry could not find the right words.

Sara felt a rush of pride. ‘I’m glad you approve,’ she retorted cheekily. ‘I hope you realise it took a wagonload of make-up and an army of people to produce this new me.’

Much to everyone’s concern, she then helped her son clamber onto her lap, while he chatted excitedly of seagulls and ice cream.

Safe and content in her embrace, Tom wrapped his small arms round her neck and kissed her full on the mouth.

Fearing that Tom’s enthusiasm was bound to take its toll, Harry gently removed the boy from her lap. ‘I tell you what.’ He handed the flowers to Tom. ‘You give these to Mammy, then you can help me to push the wheelchair to the car. What do you say?’

The child glanced up, looking for his mammy’s approval. When she nodded, he ran to the rear of the wheelchair, feeling tall and proud next to Nurse McDonald. ‘Do you think you’re big enough?’ she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Tom stretched to his full height. ‘I’m bigger than Johnny Mason.’

‘Oh, and are you strong enough, my little man?’

The boy flexed his muscles. ‘’Course I am!’

Nurse Aileen kept him chatting while Harry enjoyed a quiet moment with his wife.

‘Are you sure you feel able to come home with us?’ he asked her, his heart full.

Sara pressed her finger to Harry’s lips. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it all morning,’ she whispered, and he knew not to argue with her. Besides, though it was a bittersweet thing, after endless weeks of seeing her in a hospital bed, it was so wonderful to be taking her home.

A few minutes later, after thanking Nurse Aileen, the little group left the hospital.

Having got Sara to the car without any difficulty, Harry opened the rear door for Tom, then pushed the front seat back as far as it would go. Gently lifting Sara out of the wheelchair and into the car, he was devastated to realise how thin and weightless his wife had become.

He sensed her looking up at him. Her eyes held his gaze, and though not a word was spoken, the bond between them was a powerful thing; so much so, that he believed he would suffocate. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘Show me how much.’ The pretty brown eyes twinkled mischievously.

Deeply moved, he gazed on her a moment longer, then he leaned forward and, steadying himself with one hand, he placed the other to the side of her face, and then he kissed her – a long, wonderful kiss that told her everything she needed to know.

‘We need to go to the park!’ Full of childish anticipation, Tom was clapping his hands. ‘I want Mammy to see the ducks!’

Sara laughed. ‘You two have already been gadding about the beach and now you want to go to the park?’ Sara was glad that Harry had not yet told their son the truth, but there would be time enough, she thought. It was only right that her darling boy should enjoy the magic in his carefree world, for just a while longer.

She worried about them both; especially Harry. He would have no one to console him, while Tom would always have his daddy. She thought of Irish Kathleen, and not for the first time she prayed with all her heart that Harry would keep his promise and return to Fisher’s Hill, the place where he was born. He still had friends there; people who had cared for him as a boy, and whom he had badly missed over the years.

Sara knew that for Harry, going back to face his demons would not be easy. But it would be a fresh start for both him and young Tom.

She truly believed it was the right thing for her husband and son, and it was what she herself wanted. Harry always kept his promises, and she knew he would keep this one; albeit reluctantly.

‘Mammy! You have to come and see!’ Tom was insistent. ‘You have to come and help us feed the ducks!’

‘That’s enough, Tom.’ Harry could see how tired his wife was. ‘I told you we might have to leave it for another day. Your mammy needs to rest. We must take her home.’ Harry was desperate to get her settled and comfortable. ‘We’ll maybe go later – see if your mammy feels up to it then. All right, son?’

On the verge of tears, Tom nodded. ‘All right.’

As he drove away, all manner of things were running through Harry’s mind. Should he tell the boy today … tell him right now, or later when they were all together at home? No! The doctor said not to tell him until it was absolutely necessary. ‘No need upsetting him a minute before you have to,’ that was what he had advised. Yet Harry felt the weight of it like a mountain on his shoulders.

He thought it was wrong not to warn the boy, yet like the doctor, he was coming round to the idea that it might be best if he left it for a while – not too long though. Maybe it could wait until tomorrow, after Sara was back in the hospital.

Yes, that was it, he decided. He would tell young Tom tomorrow.

Giving Sara a reassuring squeeze of the hand, he headed out of the hospital grounds, towards home.

As they travelled along, Sara kept glancing in the rearview mirror; she could see the disappointment in her son’s eyes. Harry was right, she was tired, and she could hardly wait to see her home after all these weeks. But, it was so hard, seeing Tom’s forlorn little face.

Her mind was made up. ‘Head for the park, Harry,’ she said. ‘I really would like to go and see the ducks with you and Tom.’

Tom gave a whoop of joy. ‘I told you! I knew Mammy wanted to see the ducks. Please, Daddy. Please!’

‘Stop it, Tom.’ Harry couldn’t think straight. ‘Be quiet for a minute.’ Turning briefly to Sara, he asked, ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

Sara took a moment, before giving her answer. ‘You said this would be my day,’ she reminded him gently. ‘You said I could do whatever I wanted.’

‘I know, but I meant—’

‘I know what you meant. “Within the boundaries” is what you meant. But what’s the sense in having boundaries?’ She gave him a long, quiet look that spoke volumes. ‘If I don’t go right now, I may never get another chance.’

Harry knew she was right, but he could not bring himself to speak of it. Besides, there was nothing he could say that she didn’t already know; that they didn’t both already know.

Behind them, Tom was yelling with excitement.

‘I should have known the two of you would gang up on me,’ Harry groaned. ‘I never could get the better of you pair.’

The park was fairly busy, with young mums pushing their big coach-built prams along and occasionally stopping to point out the ducks and swans to the babies inside. People went strolling by and older men sat on the benches, enjoying their pipes and newspapers; and right there, leaning over the rails, a young woman was feeding her half-eaten sandwich to the clamouring ducks.

Having parked up, Harry switched off the engine and lifted the wheelchair out of the boot. ‘Stay where you are, Tom,’ he told the boy. ‘I’ll get Mammy out first, then we’ll go for a walk round the lake.’

‘I want to come out now!’ Tom was far too excited to remain in the car. ‘I want to show Mammy the duck with the hurt wing.’

‘Just hang on a minute, eh?’ Harry wagged a finger at him. ‘I can’t keep my eye on you and get your mammy out all at the same time.’

Shifting forward in his seat, Tom wound his arms round his mother’s neck. ‘Are you happy, Mammy? Are you glad we brought you to see the ducks?’

Sara took hold of his hands. ‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ she said, and kissed the small warm fingers.

When Harry lifted her into the wheelchair, she held onto him. ‘You won’t forget your promise, will you?’ Weak as she was, her hold on him was vice-like, and the steely look of determination in her eyes took him aback.

‘What do you mean?’ he said. He knew well enough what she meant; but he could not bear to think about it.

Sensing his dilemma, Sara’s heart was sore. The suffering had been long and hard, but right now in the depths of her soul, she was content – all but for one thing. ‘I need to know that you and Tom have a place to go, when …’ She paused, before going on more brightly. ‘If your friend Kathleen is half as wonderful as you described, I can rest easy, knowing that you and Tom will have someone who cares.’

Deliberately averting his gaze, Harry looked out across the lake. He didn’t want to talk about it, but it would not go away. It would never go away! A dark anger flooded his soul.

‘Harry?’ Her voice drifted into his thoughts. ‘I need to know,’ she repeated.

Still, Harry did not look at her. Instead he closed his eyes, taking a moment to recover, before placing his two hands on the arms of the wheelchair. He met her gaze with the deepest concern. ‘You mustn’t fret. I made you that promise,’ he spoke with quiet sincerity, ‘and I’m telling you now, hand on heart, you can be sure I mean to keep it.’ There! It was said, and the saying made it all the more real, and now the tears swam across his eyes so he could hardly see.

‘Thank you.’ With her slim, delicate fingers she wiped away his tears with a gossamer touch. Her smile was infectious. ‘Now then, my lovely, handsome man, before our son jumps right through the floorboards, can we please go and find these blessed ducks?’

Beside himself with excitement, Tom was leaping up and down in the back of the car.

A few moments later, Sara was settled in the wheelchair. Despite the warm July day, she was swathed in a rug with her feet tucked up nice and cosy; she remarked on the fresh sweet smell of the land and the water. Then she sat back, taking in the magnificent scenery, while Harry pushed her along the walkway and Tom skipped on ahead, shouting and laughing, and frightening every creature for miles around.

Sara’s pain was constant, but not yet unbearable, and for that she was thankful; though at the same time she was mindful of the medicine bag in the pouch behind her seat. Oh, but it was such a treat to be in the fresh air, where she could breathe easier, and the skies seemed never-ending. And what a joy, to see the wide meandering lake, and the mixed, colourful shrubbery beyond. ‘It’s so special here,’ she told Harry excitedly. ‘I don’t know if I ever told you, but this park has always been a favourite of mine.’

‘Mine, too.’ Tom fell over but soon jumped up again.

With Tom giving a running commentary, Harry pushed the wheelchair all the way round the lake, his attention evenly divided between his wife and his son. But all the time he was acutely aware of Sara’s medication, secreted away yet readily accessible.

Every now and then they stopped while Tom coaxed the ducks onto the grass with pieces of bread. When they waddled towards him at full speed, quacking and screeching, Tom would run away screaming like a banshee, making his mother laugh out loud.

When Harry got Sara close enough to stroke her fingers down the long slim neck of a graceful and unusually tame swan, she was beside herself. ‘Oh, Harry, he’s so soft … the feathers are so beautiful, just like silk!’

They had been there for no more than half an hour, when Harry caught Sara shivering. ‘Are you in pain?’ he asked immediately. As ever, he was right there for her.

‘No,’ she quickly assured him. ‘I felt a bit of a chill, that’s all.’

‘Right, come on, Tom. That’s enough for now,’ Harry announced. ‘It’s time to go home.’

Sara agreed. ‘It’s been wonderful, though,’ she told them both happily. ‘I would not have missed it for the world.’

On the way back to the car, Tom was thrilled to see a family of swans gliding over the lake. ‘Daddy! Mammy! Look!’ Before they could stop him, he ran across the grass to sit on a nearby bench, from where he had a good view of the birds. His voice sailed through the air. ‘COME AND SEE THE SWANS!’

Angry that he should have run off like that, Tom ordered him back. ‘We need to leave! Tom, get back here now!’

Surprising him, he felt Sara’s hand in his. ‘Leave him be, my love,’ she murmured. ‘He’s just excited.’

‘I’m concerned about you catching a chill.’

A couple of times on the way round the lake, Harry had seen her wincing with pain. When he reminded her that the medication was in the pouch, along with a flask of water, she told him she was fine, and that he worried too much.

‘Wheel me to the bench, Harry.’ Seeing how he was about to protest, she grabbed his hand. ‘Just for a minute … please?’

With Tom still yelling, and Sara so insistent, Harry reluctantly gave in. ‘A couple of minutes, that’s all,’ he conceded. ‘Then you’re both going back into the car and no arguments.’ Slipping off his jacket, he fastened it securely about Sara’s shoulders and neck.

‘Honestly, Harry! You’ve got me trussed up like a turkey,’ she grumbled, while in truth, she had never been happier.

For a few precious moments, the three of them took delight in watching the swans fly past until they were just tiny specks on the horizon.

Tom was still leaping up and down, doing acrobatics on the bench, while Sara laughed at his antics. ‘Look at him, Harry.’ The child was a sheer delight to her. ‘It does my heart good, to see him so happy.’ She ached for her son, knowing that soon, he would be faced with a terrible truth.

She looked up at her husband, her adoring gaze drawing his image into her soul. ‘Harry?’

He stooped to her. ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

‘Thank you for today,’ she told him. ‘You’ve given me the best day of my life.’

Deeply moved, Harry held her close. ‘Oh Sara, I miss you so much,’ he confessed brokenly. ‘I miss holding you when we go to bed, and waking up next to you in the morning. I miss watching you when you potter about in the garden … and hearing your awful singing when you’re doing the dishes.’ They both smiled at that. ‘All those familiar things that we took for granted, I miss them desperately. But most of all, I miss our life together.’

Choking on his words, he gulped back the emotion. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I try to be strong, but now and then it swamps me. I feel ashamed, because it’s you I should be concerned about. Not myself.’

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Harry. It’s out of our hands now, and however much we want to, we can’t change that.’

As Sara ran the palm of her hand over Harry’s bowed shoulders, not for the first time she realised that, in a different way, Harry’s pain was every bit as crippling as her own.

‘All those things you said – I miss them too,’ she confided lovingly. ‘But you and me, Harry, we should be counting our blessings. We’ve been given so much – a happy life together, a darling boy, and now just look at us: here we are, sitting in the sunshine, holding each other, when there are so many people in this world who will never know how wonderful that feels. When you think about it, Harry, we haven’t done so bad, have we, eh?’

Harry shook his head in admiration. ‘You never cease to amaze me. You’ve always been able to see the best in a bad situation,’ he said. ‘And that’s another thing I love about you.’

Just then, Tom jumped off the bench and began running down the steep bank, towards the lake. ‘No, Tom! Get back here!’ Harry shouted. But the boy kept running, veering this way then that, and thinking it was all a game.

‘Go on, Harry.’ Sara had every faith in him. ‘Go get him!’ And when Harry took off at the run, she yelled encouragement. ‘Come on, you can do it! You’ve got long legs and he’s only little!’ Harry had to laugh at that, and when Tom shot off towards the shrubbery, he paused for breath, before setting off again. ‘All right Tom, that’s enough! Game over, come on now!’

Breathless now, it crossed his mind that he wasn’t as fit as he should be. ‘Tom! Your mammy’s waiting to go home!’

It wasn’t long before he had the runaway in his arms. ‘You and your mammy are two of a kind,’ Harry panted then threw him over his shoulder, until Tom squealed with laughter. Then when Harry tickled his ribs, the boy was almost hysterical.

They went along the path and up the bank, towards the spot where Sara was waiting, ‘This boy takes after you,’ Harry called ahead. ‘Disobedient and wilful, that’s what he is.’

As they drew closer, Harry continued to lightheartedly tease and grumble. ‘Oh yes, he’s definitely taken after his mother. It’s no good, Sara, you’re gonna have to get him under control, because he doesn’t listen to a word I say …’ He stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong! He could sense it.

Swinging Tom from his shoulders, he ran forward. ‘Sara! … Oh dear God … my SARA!’ But Sara was gone from this world, and when he took her in his arms, he knew her pain was over.

Passionately, he folded her to his heart, remembering the words she had said only minutes ago. ‘This is the best day of my life.’ But it was small consolation. Sara had left them behind, and he was devastated.

Instinctively, Harry caught his son to him, and together they held her – until a passing couple came to their aid.

When he thought about it later, Harry could never remember covering those last few paces to Sara. He recalled the very moment when he realised something was wrong. He felt the weight of his son on his shoulders, and he remembered swinging Tom to the ground.

But that was all; until he had Sara in his arms.

Too young, too vibrant, she had lost her fight to live.

She was at peace now; and in that agonising time when he held her, Harry thought she was more beautiful than he could ever remember.

The following week in the pretty church overlooking the shoreline, there were many tears at Sara’s untimely departure and great joy at having known her as Harry and little Tom, proud and broken, led the congregation outside, to the well-tended, colourful garden. There on the bank on a glorious August day, they laid her to rest, facing the view she had always loved.

There followed a well-set-out tea in Sara’s cosy home, where the neighbours had pulled together and taken charge.

Afterwards, when everyone was gone, Harry spoke with his son. ‘Your mammy is safe now,’ he promised him gently. ‘Someone very special is looking after her now.’

Tom flung his arms round his daddy and sobbed until it seemed he would never stop. After a time, he fell asleep in Harry’s arms, whereupon with great tenderness, his father carried him to the couch and covered him over.

With those tiny arms around his neck, Harry had felt the unforgiving burden of grief like never before.

Looking down now on that small, innocent face so much like his mammy’s, Harry’s heart turned over. ‘Look out for us, my darling,’ he wept, and glanced towards the window as though talking to some unseen person. ‘Help me to make the right decisions.’

On the last day of August, Harry and his son stood at the door of their home and watched their furniture being loaded up. ‘Have you kept back everything you need, son?’ Harry wanted the boy to be sure.

Tom held up the raggedy lop-eared dog. ‘I’ve got Loppy,’ he said, and gave the shadow of a smile.

‘Are you sure he’s all you want to take with you?’

The boy confirmed this with a nod.

‘It’s your last chance, Tom. If there’s anything else you need, you have to say so now, before the wagon leaves.’

‘I only need Loppy.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

Striding down the drive, Harry spoke with the burly driver. ‘You can take it away now,’ he instructed. ‘Oh, and you won’t forget, will you,’ he pointed to a large tea-chest marked Personal, ‘that that one does not go in the sale. It goes into storage.’

The driver perused his clipboard. ‘I’ve got it all written down, sir. Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of.’

‘And you’ve got the forwarding address for the documents and such?’

The driver tapped his clipboard. ‘Like I say, it’s all written down here.’

‘Good.’ Taking his wallet from his back pocket, Harry slipped the driver two pound notes. ‘Thanks. You and your mate have done a good job.’

The driver stuffed the notes in his pocket. ‘Much appreciated, sir.’

‘You will be careful with it all, won’t you? I mean, try not to damage anything?’ Buried under cardboard boxes, he could see the well-worn armchair that both he and Sara had sat on many times; in particular he recalled the evening when she had perched on his knee in that very chair and told him she was expecting their first – and now only – child.

‘We’ll treat your belongings with respect, sir.’ At the onset of this job, the driver had been acquainted with Harry’s circumstances, causing him to be grateful for his own happy marriage and five healthy children.

Harry thanked him before, with heavy heart, he turned away.

Having gone from room to room, satisfying himself that everything was locked and secure, Harry got Tom and the suitcases into the car and drove straight to the churchyard.

The gardener, Roland Sparrow, was waiting in the porch; pencil-thin and whisky-faced, he gave a nervous cough as Harry approached. ‘I’ve not been waiting too long, Mr Blake,’ he pre-empted Harry’s question. ‘Five minutes at most.’

Taking off his flat cap, he then addressed him with a mood of respect. ‘Might I say before we start, the boss informed me of your loss, and if you don’t mind, I would very much like to offer my condolences.’

Harry acknowledged his concern. ‘Thank you, Mr Sparrow, that’s very kind.’ Quickly changing the subject, he asked, ‘Did you bring the copy of instructions I left at your office?’

‘I have them here,’ came the answer. ‘Very thorough they are too. Most folks either don’t know how, or don’t bother, to take the time and trouble drawing plans and naming flowers, but you’ve done it all, and it makes my job that much easier, if I may say so.’

‘And are you comfortable with everything?’ Harry had taken a long time, thinking about what Sara would have wanted.

‘I have, and what’s more I think it’ll turn out to be the prettiest little garden in the churchyard. Keeping the place beautiful, it’s what I do.’

Looking down his glasses, which were precariously perched at the end of his narrow nose, he read from Harry’s list. ‘Let’s see now … the planting of different coloured heathers for autumn and winter; daffodil and tulip bulbs all around the border for spring, and a girdle of low-growing pink and blue perennials for the summertime.

‘By! It’ll be well pretty! Oh, and just think of the perfumes in the summertime!’ His voice adopted a reverent tone again. ‘I understand you’ve chosen a black marble cross, with two inbuilt flower vases?’

Harry confirmed it with a nod.

‘Well, I can tell you now, the vases will be filled every two weeks with seasonal flowers, and they’ll be regularly topped up with water ’cause that’s what I do.’

‘So, I can count on you, then?’ Harry needed reassuring.

Mr Sparrow beamed with pride. ‘I shall tend your lady’s garden with great care, you can depend on it.’

Harry concluded the discussion. ‘You’ll find all the names and telephone numbers you need on your list, and I will be in touch with your office with regards to everything. Also, I’ll be back as often as I can, so as to keep an eye on things.’

‘That’s absolutely understood, Mr Blake. And I’m sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.’ Sparrow glanced about the well-tended churchyard. ‘I’ve been doing this work for nigh on twenty years. It’s what I do, and though I say so meself … nobody does it better.’

‘I’m sure.’ With that, they parted company.

Harry watched the older man amble away. He did not particularly enjoy the idea of someone else tending Sara’s grave plot, but for now it had to be that way, if he was to keep his promise to her.

‘Is the man getting yellow roses for Mammy?’ Cradling his precious raggedy dog, Tom had stood silent throughout the conversation. Now though, as he looked up at Harry, the tears were not far away.

Harry swung the boy into his arms. ‘That’s right, and because we’ll be nearly two hundred miles away, Daddy’s paying him to take care of your mammy’s garden when we can’t be here.’ It hurt him to see how the boy was so hopelessly out of his depth. ‘Is that all right with you, young man?’

‘Will he put the yellow roses where Mammy can see them?’

‘I’m sure he will, yes. Mr Sparrow is a good, kind man. He would want Mammy to see her favourite flowers.’

He and Tom then went to stand before Sara’s grave for what seemed an age. They talked of the past and spoke of the future, and they gave their heartfelt promise to come back whenever they could.

After a time, they made their way out of the churchyard in silence, lost in thoughts of that wonderful woman who had briefly touched their lives, and made them all the stronger for it.

Leaning back on his rickety wooden bench, the gardener saw them leave; he saw how the little boy clung to his father, and he saw the grief in the latter’s face, and he shook his greying head.

‘Time will help,’ he muttered. ‘Wait and see if I’m not right.’ His own young wife had died of blood poisoning twenty years or more since, and at the time, he had thought he would never get over it. But he’d now been married to the excellent second Mrs Sparrow for over fifteen years, and couldn’t be happier.

He then slid the whisky flask out of his back pocket and took a healthy swig. ‘Phew! Puts hairs on a man’s chest that does, and no mistake!’ he said to the gravestones.

Returning the flask to his back pocket, he began merrily whistling as he went about his work.

Roland Sparrow was used to seeing folks come and go. He tended their graves and he drank to their health.

After all … it was what he did.

At the gate, Harry glanced back. In his mind’s eye he could see Sara as plain as day; laughing in that carefree way he loved, her long hair blown by the breeze while she chased Tom across the park. She was always so brimful of life and energy.

He smiled at her memory now, and through the rest of his life, that was the way he would always remember her.

The final stop was the estate agent.

‘So the house is empty now, is it, sir?’ The agent was a fresh-faced young fellow with a blue and white spotted tie and a smile as wide as the Mersey Tunnel.

Harry handed over the keys.

‘We’ll be in touch.’ The young man’s smile was comforting. ‘Matter of fact, the gentleman who viewed your property a week ago has sold his own place and now he’s arranged to view your house again.’

‘Sounds hopeful.’ Harry had agonised about selling their home, but it was all part of the promise he had made to Sara. ‘It’s best if you do it straight away.’ She had been insistent. ‘Before Tom starts school.’

‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’ The young man’s voice penetrated Harry’s thoughts. ‘Is that all right with you?’

Harry apologised. ‘Sorry … er, yes. Yes, that’s absolutely fine. I’ll wait to hear from you.’

A few moments later, taking hold of Tom’s hand, Harry then embarked on the journey he never dreamed he would make. He would not be making it now, if Sara had not made him promise.

The memories of his youth had never really gone away; Sara knew that. When he first met her, he told her everything, and she was a tower of strength to him.

The memories were suffocating, of the way it had been. Wonderful memories. Crippling memories.

After he lost his parents in a fire, there was the lovely Irish Kathleen, always there, wise and caring. She had been like a mother to him.

Sometimes tragedy frightens people away, like the mates he used to hang about with – Bob, Alan, and the unpredictable Phil Saunders, who had always been his rival. Where were they now? What had become of them? Had they done well, or fallen by the wayside?

He smiled, despite his sombre mood. Wasn’t it strange how life swept you along, whether you wanted it or not. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, it was meant to be.

Without him even realising it, the girl grew strong in his mind.

‘Judy.’ After all this time, her name came softly to his lips. Back then when they were young, she had meant the world to him. When it all went wrong, he had moved away – to the mayhem of war and manhood. And then some turbulent years later he had met his darling Sara and moved to Weymouth to build a life with her. Warm and forgiving, she had been his saviour, giving him stability and a son.

Why though, had Sara desperately wanted him to go back? Back to that place where he had grown up and found his first love? What woman would want that? But then, Sara was special.

In that moment, he wondered about his first love, and a great sadness filled his heart. Had Judy found happiness? Was she safe? Had she forgiven him? Or did she want to punish him for what had happened all those years ago?

Time would tell, he thought.

Truth was, the prospect of seeing her again was deeply unsettling.

## Chapter Two

WITH ONLY A short distance to go up the A418 from Aylesbury before they reached Leighton Buzzard, Harry found himself snarled up in traffic. ‘I think we’ll take a short break,’ he said. A quick glance at the boy and he decided it would do them both good to take another breather. It was a very long journey from Weymouth to Bedfordshire and they had been driving for hours. Besides, the nearer he got to Fisher’s Hill, the more his nerves were getting the better of him.

Twenty minutes later, as Harry negotiated his way through the lanes and backways, Tom spotted a food van in a lay-by. ‘I’m hungry, Daddy,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ Harry conceded. ‘It’s been a while since we ate.’ Drawing into a little gravelled area, he got Tom out of the Hillman. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what they’ve got.’ To tell the truth, he welcomed the stop. His back was aching, and he had a real thirst on him.

At the van Harry lifted Tom into his arms. ‘Right, big man. What d’you fancy?’ He pointed to the items arranged on glass shelves behind the counter. ‘And don’t get anything too messy,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t want it all over you … or the car!’

Tom chose a ham roll. Harry chose ham and tomato; and each had a bag of potato crisps, a Wagon Wheel chocolate biscuit, and a bottle of orange juice. On the way back to the car, they chatted about this and that, the main topic being the little man who could hardly see over the counter to serve them.

With only a short distance to Fisher’s Hill, Harry was still questioning the situation. Was Kathleen only acting out of loyalty by writing back in response to his letter, and saying they could stop with her? And would Judy’s life be turned upside down again, because of him?

He could not go home, and he had no other family, so if he didn’t go to Kathleen, where would he go? All the same, wouldn’t it be better if he let sleeping dogs lie? He could take them to a hotel; maybe arrange to rent a house until he found something more permanent.

‘I think we’ll pull off the road for a while, Tom,’ he told the boy. ‘After all, we’re in no hurry.’ He felt the need to slow everything down.

Taking a left turn, he found himself in what looked like a lane to nowhere. ‘I remember this place.’ He and Judy had been here many times on their bikes. ‘I used to go fishing in the stream at the bottom,’ he said. ‘Me and … my friends.’ The pictures were so alive in his mind – of him and his mates – climbing trees, chasing rabbits, and doing all the usual stuff that growing boys do.

And then, later on, there were the quieter, more memorable times, when he and Judy came walking hand-in-hand down this very lane, wide-eyed and starstruck; hopelessly in love.

Now, when the guilt poured in, he deliberately pushed the memories to the back of his mind.

Parking the car, he collected Tom and the food, and the two of them meandered down the bank, to follow the splashing sound of water.

Overhung with ancient willows, the stream was magical. The frothy white water tumbled over the boulders and wound its way down to the valley, and all around the birds could be heard singing.

Mesmerised, the two of them stood for a moment, just watching, and listening. The graceful willows swayed ever so gently in the teasing breeze, and the sound of water against stone was uniquely soothing.

Harry allowed the memories to flood back. ‘Shall I tell you something?’ he murmured to Tom.

Intent on the little bird hopping from boulder to boulder, the boy nodded. ‘Mmm.’

‘When we were your age, me and my friends used to leap across this stream.’

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Tom gave his father his full attention. ‘Did you?’

‘We did.’

‘And did you get a smack for being naughty?’

Harry laughed out loud. ‘We did, yes! Every time we fell in and got wet, our mams got cross and our dads gave us a clip round the ear.’

Deep in thought, he grew quiet for a while. ‘We still came down here though.’ He pointed to an old oak tree on the other side. ‘We even made a den in the branches of that tree.’

Stretching his neck, Tom strained to look into the tree branches. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’ Harry felt a pang of sadness. ‘It was a long time ago. It’s probably rotted away by now.’

‘Can we see?’ Having caught the excitement in his father’s voice, Tom was curious.

Harry considered Tom’s request, and he too began to wonder. ‘Yes, why not? Let’s go take a look.’

‘How can we get across?’

‘We’ll paddle – would you like that?’

Tom threw his two arms up in the air. ‘Yes, I would!’

So they kicked off their shoes, rolled up their trousers, and dipped their bare feet in the stream, with Tom screeching at the shockingly cold water which lapped over his ankles.

For the first time in an age, Harry laughed out loud. ‘Wow! That’s a good feeling, don’t you think so, Tom?’

‘It’s freezing, Daddy!’

‘Do you want me to carry you?’

‘No! I want to paddle!’

So with Harry holding tight to Tom’s hand, the two of them paddled across the stream and clambered out on the other side, all wet and refreshed, and much lighter of heart. ‘D’you know what, Tom?’ Harry took a deep invigorating breath. ‘I’d forgotten what that felt like.’ It had taken him right back to another time, one without responsibility or worries.

‘We might do that again some day?’ he suggested, and Tom was all for it.

After rummaging about in that big old tree, they found remnants of Harry’s childhood. Amazingly, the main plank which had forged the base of their den was still virtually intact. ‘Lift me up, Daddy!’ Tom was beside himself with excitement.

Warning him to stay very still, because of the rotting wood, Harry lifted him up to stand on the plank, and when the boy looked down on what had been Harry’s kingdom, Harry felt deeply nostalgic. He could see himself up there, not much older than Tom was now, being master of all he surveyed.

The most surprising find of all, was when Harry lifted his boy down. He was not consciously thinking of it, so it must have been a deeper instinct that brought his gaze to the widest girth of the trunk.

‘Good Lord!’ His heart soared in his chest when he saw the outline of two entwined shapes deeply engraved in the timber.

‘What is it, Daddy?’ Tom wanted to know.

Seeming not to have heard, Harry went forward, with Tom right behind, and there, crudely carved within the two entwined hearts, so faint he could hardly read it, were the names of Harry and Judy.

An unexpected storm of emotion flooded Harry’s being; for a moment he had to turn away, so Tom would not see.

‘Daddy, show me! Show me, Daddy!’

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Harry snatched the boy into his arms and strode away. ‘It’s nothing … just some old carvings, that’s all.’ But it wasn’t all. It was wonderful, and shocking, and the strongest reminder yet, of how it had been between him and Judy.

He remembered it now, as if it was yesterday.

It was the summer after Judy’s family had moved into the street, when they were just childhood friends, riding their old bikes around the countryside, coming here and making their mark on the world.

As they hurried away from that place, Harry could hear his son chatting about the tree and the stream, telling his dad how he wanted to come back again. Harry had nothing to say. He was being drawn back into another world, one from which he had flown long ago.

Having paddled back to the other side, Harry tried desperately to shut the images out of his mind. ‘Hungry now, are you?’ he asked Tom.

‘Starving!’

‘Right.’ They dried their feet on their socks, then put their shoes back on, and Harry unwrapped the food.

‘There you go, son. Time to tuck in.’ He handed the boy his bread roll, relieved that Tom had got back his appetite. ‘Good, is it?’ These past few weeks, neither of them had felt much like eating.

With his mouth full, Tom nodded.

‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was,’ Harry commented, tearing off another chunk of his bread roll. ‘When we’ve finished, we’ll get back on the road.’ He swallowed the last bite. ‘There’s a box of tissues in the back of the car. We can finish drying our feet on them.’

The boy looked up. ‘Daddy?’ he asked.

Harry didn’t hear. He was thinking of that carving, and Judy. Then he was thinking how much Sara would have loved this beautiful place.

‘Daddy!’ Tom repeated, more loudly this time.

Startled, Harry turned, his glance softening as he gazed down on that small, innocent face, ‘Sorry, son. I was miles away.’

‘What town is that?’ The lad pointed across the bank, towards the swathe of houses.

‘It isn’t a town, son. It’s a village – name of Heath and Reach.’ This whole area had been his stamping ground. ‘The nearest town is Leighton Buzzard,’ he pointed towards the curve of the canal, ‘about four miles in that direction.’

‘Leighton Buzzard? That’s a funny name. So, is that where we’re going?’

‘Nope.’ Harry shook his head.

‘Where are we going then?’

Again, Harry turned away, his mind filled with things belonging to the past. Things that had never really left him.

The boy tugged on Harry’s sleeve. ‘I’m tired.’

Smiling patiently, Harry slid an arm round his narrow shoulders. ‘I know,’ he conceded. ‘It’s been a long journey, but we’re not far off now.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Oh, Tom, I already told you three times on the way here. We’re going to a place called Fisher’s Hill. The place where I grew up.’

‘Oh yes.’ The boy dropped his quiet gaze to the water’s edge. He didn’t want to go somewhere strange. He wanted to go back to his own house. He wanted his mammy, and the garden where he played at soldiers behind the trees.

But it was gone now. All gone, and the child’s heart was heavy.

‘Will I like it in our new place, Daddy?’ he asked tearfully.

‘I hope so, son.’ Harry was anxious, for both of them. ‘Yes, I believe you will like it. I know you’ll like Kathleen. She’s a lovely person. When I was growing up and something really bad happened, Kathleen was very good to me.’

‘Was that when your mammy and daddy got burned?’

Shocked, Harry swung round. ‘Tom! Who told you that?’

‘I heard you talking with Mammy,’ Tom answered candidly.

‘Oh, I see.’ In an odd way, Harry was strangely relieved, though he wondered how a small boy could have remembered something like that.

‘Mammy asked you to promise you would go back, and you said you didn’t want to, because you had those bad memories.’

‘That’s right, son. I did say that.’ He was sorry that Tom had been living with those thoughts, and then felt the need to clarify something. ‘Can you remember anything else – apart from the bit about the bad memories?’ he asked.

Tom shrugged his shoulders, but gave no answer.

‘Well, when I told Mammy that I didn’t want to go back to where I grew up, she reminded me that I shouldn’t just remember the bad memories, because there were good memories as well. Memories of love, and friendship, and of that kind lady called Kathleen, who took me in after I lost my parents. That’s really why Mammy wanted us to go back.’

‘Because she was going away, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, son,’ Harry said in a choked voice, ‘because she was going away, and she did not want us to be without friends.’

Tom considered that, before, with the innocence of a child, he asked, ‘Will Kathleen really like me?’

Harry smiled at that. ‘Of course she’ll like you. She won’t be able to help herself.’

There followed a brief span of silence while each of them took stock of the situation, ‘Daddy?’

‘Yes, son?’

‘Kathleen won’t pretend to be my real mammy, will she?’

‘No. She would never do that.’

‘I wish Mammy could be with us.’

‘I know, son.’ Harry’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘But she can’t. I’m sorry, Tom, but we have to get used to that.’

‘I miss her.’ The tears threatened.

‘I know you do, and so do I.’ He drew the boy close. ‘If there was any other way, you know I would make it right. But I can’t, so from now on, it’s just the two of us.’

‘Will Mammy be all right without us?’

‘Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.’

‘Is she with the angels?’

‘I imagine so. Yes, that’s where she is … with the angels.’

The boy’s next question shook Harry to the roots, for it echoed his own deepest fears. ‘We’ll never see her again, will we? Not ever.’

For the moment, Harry could not bring himself to answer. The truth was, he still had not come to terms with her loss.

He looked down on that small, bewildered face, and he felt helpless. ‘We have no way of knowing if we’ll ever see her again, Tom,’ he answered quietly. ‘But even if we can’t see her, I bet she can see us. Wherever we go, she’ll be keeping an eye on us; wanting us to be strong, wanting us to look after each other.’

Tom was amazed. ‘Does she know I got my feet wet in the stream?’

Harry smiled. ‘Maybe she does, yes.’

‘When we go back to the car, will she come with us?’

‘I don’t know, son.’

Tears were inevitable as they tumbled down the boy’s face. ‘I want my Mammy … I want her now!’

Grabbing the boy into his arms, Harry pacified him. ‘Hush now. I want her too, but we can’t have her back, except in our hearts and minds. That’s something, isn’t it, Tom? That really is … something.’

Sensing his father’s desolation, the boy wrapped his arms round his neck. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

‘I’m sorry too, son.’ Brushing back the boy’s brown hair, he put his hand under his chin and lifted Tom’s face to him. ‘I love you, Tom. I’ll take good care of you, just like Mammy wanted.’

After a while he led the boy by the hand and together they walked back across the field and over the bridge. ‘We’d best make tracks.’ He didn’t want it to be dark when they got there. ‘Kathleen will be wondering where we are.’ It was so long since he’d seen that kindly soul, he had almost forgotten what she looked like.

‘What if she doesn’t like me?’ Tom began to fret again.

Harry gave the boy a loving glance, observing the eager eyes and the endless mop of brown hair, and the little face that could never be described as handsome, but was honest and giving. In that moment, he saw the mother in the child, and the pride was like a flame burning his chest.

‘Will you stop worrying!’ he said fondly. ‘She’ll love you to bits!’

‘She’s not my mammy though.’ A familiar little frown crumpled the boy’s forehead. ‘You have to tell her.’

‘I will, of course I will, but she already knows that. Look, son, trust me. Kathleen would never try to take your mammy’s place. But she is a kind and wonderful person who is sure to want your happiness, every bit as much as I do.’

‘Is she young and pretty, like Mammy?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, she’s not young. But as I recall, she did have a pretty face … kind of warm and smiley.’

‘Is she very old?’

He laughed. ‘Old enough, I suppose.’

‘Grandad was old, wasn’t he?’

‘I don’t know that he would have agreed, but yes, I dare say he was.’

‘Are you old, Daddy?’

Harry thought on that for a moment. ‘Well, thirty-six isn’t really meant to be old,’ he had been shaken by the realisation of how short life could be, ‘but yes, today, I do feel old.’

‘Am I old?’

Harry laughed at his innocence. ‘God, yes! You’re as old as Methuselah.’

‘Who’s Musoothella?’

Chuckling, Harry settled the boy into the back of the car. ‘He was a very wise person.’

‘Am I a wise person?’

His father gazed on him tenderly for a moment. ‘You know what?’

‘What?’

Harry gave a wistful smile. ‘I think you’re probably the wisest person in the whole wide world.’

‘Wise as Kathleen?’

‘Well, nobody’s as wise as Kathleen, but near enough, I reckon.’

Harry gave an involuntary shiver. Today had been a typical late-summer day, with long spells of bright sunshine and a warm, gentle breeze. Now though, with the onset of evening, the clouds hung menacingly low, and there was a sudden nip in the air. ‘We might just get there before dark,’ he muttered, covering Tom with the tartan travelling rug and pressing Loppy into his arms.

He then gazed back a moment to where they had been. Only the fleetest of moments, but he held it safe in his mind for all time.

Quickly now, he climbed into the driving seat and glanced in the mirror, to see the boy’s head lolling to one side. ‘That’s right, son,’ he murmured. ‘You get some sleep.’

Before starting the engine he glanced at the sleepy boy, ‘Aw, child! You give me so much joy … and I have nothing to give you in return.’

Driving away, he wondered what lay in store for them both. In the wake of recent events, he had made a hasty decision. Now with every mile that took them closer, the doubts grew stronger.

He had been a youth of eighteen when he left Fisher’s Hill. He didn’t altogether leave because he wanted to; war was in the air, and joining up seemed like the right thing at the time. He had left his home under a cloud, trailing with him a deal of heartache and regrets, with the intention of returning.

In the eighteen years between, he had never forgotten the place that he loved so much. He moved away, travelling far and wide, and eventually settled after the war in Weymouth, with his new sweetheart, Sara, but Fisher’s Hill and Judy remained a part of him, with the bad memories always overshadowing the good.

Even now, it was hard to believe that he was just a heartbeat away from Fisher’s Hill.

When he had first contacted Kathleen after Sara’s funeral, he was amazed and reassured to find that she was still alive, still the same lovely, homely person, and that she would welcome him and young Tom with open arms.

In his grief, he had needed something familiar and comforting, and it did his heart good just to see her familiar handwriting.

How many of his old mates might still be living there? He was thinking especially of Phil Saunders. Had he stayed? Had any of them gone back after the war – if they got through intact – and if they had, would they welcome him with open arms, or would they reject him, as he had rejected them all those years ago …

And what of his old sweetheart, Judy? Was she still there? Had she met someone – and if so, were they happy, or like himself, had she been badly scarred by what happened back then? He hoped not. Oh, he truly hoped not.

Aching with regrets, he slowed the car into the side of the road, where he remained for what seemed an age; thinking, remembering. Hurting all over again.

‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ Opening his eyes, Tom peered at him through the mirror.

‘Nothing’s wrong, son.’

‘Why aren’t we moving?’

‘I just need a minute,’ he replied. ‘A minute, that’s all … to get my thoughts together.’

Collecting a comic book from the passenger seat, he handed it back to Tom, watching in the mirror as the child began to quietly look at it and read a few words to himself.

‘Judy might not be there,’ Harry muttered under his breath. ‘I didn’t want to ask about her, and Kathleen never volunteered any information.’ He hoped that was a good sign. ‘I expect she’s moved on … made a new life for herself.’

The man that Sara had moulded ached for his wife.

The boy inside the man longed for the one called Judy.

After all these years Harry could still see how heartless he had been. In spite of what had happened, he had truly loved her, back then, when he was just a youth.

Now though, he was a man with a man’s responsibilities. He had lost the woman he loved and married, and he had a child to care for. He had no right to fret about the past because right now, at this moment in time, he was only concerned with building a new life for himself and Tom. That was his priority. He had to keep reminding himself of that!

At the junction he saw the sign, and his heart lurched:

Fisher’s Hill – 2 Miles

He wondered if it would be wise to ring Kathleen and say he had changed his mind, that he was not coming back after all, but that he would keep in touch.

Then he was ashamed to himself. What’s the matter with you? he thought. So you want to turn tail and run, is that it? It wouldn’t be the first time, he admitted to himself, shamefacedly.

No! The choice was made. He had to go on. Kathleen was waiting, looking forward to seeing him and Tom. She was the only one who had stood by him, the only one who believed in him.

Thankful that Tom had drifted back to sleep, he realised how fortunate he was to have a friend like Kathleen.

Kathleen would give Tom a woman’s love and comfort, he knew. He believed that beyond a shadow of doubt, because hadn’t she done that for him? She had always been there for him. It was Kathleen who had seen him through that dreadful time with Judy, and she had never once judged him.

When his father took off with another woman and his mother turned to drink, he had felt so alone, but as always, Kathleen gave him comfort.

Some months later, drunk and violent, his father came back, pleading that he was ready to try again. That night, while Harry was out with his mates, his parents got into a fight and somehow a fire started – ‘from a lit cigarette on the bedclothes’ the investigators said.

Witnesses claimed that the fire exploded into a raging inferno. The emergency services arrived within minutes, but it was too late. ‘A tragic accident’ was the verdict.

That same night, Kathleen took him in and brought him through the nightmare of losing both his parents.

Through each and every crisis in his colourful, rebellious youth, Kathleen had been his only salvation; a tower of strength.

During the war, and his proud time of serving with the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment, she was like a mother to him, keeping him safe, he felt, with her parcels and prayers. More than one thousand men were killed from the regiment, but Corporal, then Sergeant Harry Blake was not one of them. And now, when he had turned to her yet again, after years of deserting her and all that reminded him of his time at Fisher’s Hill, she had welcomed him with open arms.

Stronger of heart, he drove on. Tom half-opened his eyes. ‘Are we there yet, Daddy?’

‘Not yet, Tom, no. Go back to sleep if you’re tired.’ He saw how the boy was still drowsy. Since Sara was taken, neither he nor Tom had slept through the night.

Minutes later, he pulled off the main road and drove very slowly up the lane leading to Fisher’s Hill.

He had come this far and now, whatever the outcome, there was no way back.

Returning here, to the place of his youth, to his family roots, his first sweetheart and the tragedy of losing his parents, was the worst feeling. Yet coming back had always seemed inevitable, somehow. It was something he had needed to do, unfinished business, and when Sara was lost to him, turning to Kathleen seemed the most natural thing in the world.

As he drew closer, his heart was clenched like a fist, his throat so dry he could hardly swallow. He felt much like a man might feel on his way to the gallows. It was right that he should suffer, he thought cynically. A kind of penance for his sins.

One glance at the sleeping child in the back made him ashamed. It was Tom who mattered; not him.

Determined to concentrate on what lay ahead, he inched the car forward, his anxious gaze drawn towards the houses. As far as he could see, nothing had changed; every little detail was exactly as he remembered it. The brown-bricked houses were still there, strong and sturdy snuggled up side by side, with their little front walls and concrete paths, tidy well-kept gardens and net curtains at the windows; many of them twitching as folks peered through to take a look at the Hillman Minx moving at a snail’s pace up the hill.

His troubled gaze went to the house on the corner. Number 12 – there it was on the door in large brass numbers just as he remembered.

He wondered if he was being watched. Was Judy there, still living at home? Was she hiding behind the curtains, her sorry eyes trained on him in that very moment? Or had she really gone for ever, from the house, this street, and his life?

He had no way of knowing, because in the many recent telephone conversations between them, Kathleen had never once mentioned Judy, and neither had he. It was for the best, he thought.

In spite of himself, and even when he had met and married his lovely Sara, Judy had lingered, in the boy, and in the man; and the questions never went away. After he was gone, did she realise how he had had no choice but to do what he had done … for both their sakes? Or had she despised him to this day, and found contentment with someone more deserving?

‘Let it go, Harry,’ he told himself firmly. ‘It was a lifetime ago.’

But he couldn’t let it go. Against his better instincts, his quiet gaze lingered on the house. In his mind’s eye he could see himself and Judy, laughing at silly, childish things; dancing to music on the wireless or just curled up on the sofa. He pictured them both running down the path, hand-in-hand, incredibly young and blissfully happy. Then he remembered the bombshell that ruined it all. If only he’d known! But he had never even suspected. So why then, should he feel so guilty?

He closed his eyes, the memories too painful. ‘I did love you, Judy,’ he told that young girl. ‘Don’t ever doubt that.’

Braking, and putting the car into neutral, he turned to look at the sleeping child. ‘Your mammy knew what I had done,’ he whispered. ‘I told her everything, yet she took me into her life without question, accepting me as I was. She gave me a new start … taught me how to love again.’

The tears burned his eyes. ‘I’m sorry you lost her, Tom,’ he murmured. ‘So sorry.’ Leaning over, he stroked the child’s soft hair. ‘Your darling mammy was a wonderful woman and I loved her with every fibre of my being. You’ll always miss her, and so will I, but I promise you … whatever life throws at us, we’ll face it full on. You need have no worries, because I’ll always be here for you.’

He raised his eyes to the shifting skies. ‘Oh, Sara! I know you believed I should come back here, but now that I’m only a short distance away from where it all happened, I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Did you think that I might find the forgiveness I crave? Or was your intention that I should settle the past once and for all, whatever the consequences?’

He closed his eyes, but the chaos in his mind was rampant, until he turned yet again to gaze on his son. Sara had entrusted him to take care of the boy and, for now, that was all that mattered.

For a moment he dwelled on all that was good in his life, and he felt at peace. ‘I’ll take good care of him, Sara, my love,’ he vowed. ‘With all that’s in me, I give you my word.’

Composing himself, he put the car into gear and drove on up towards Kathleen’s house. As he drew closer, the street enveloped him. It was as if he had never been away.

Kathleen O’Leary had been keeping vigil at the window. When she saw the car approach, she pressed close to the pane, her anxious gaze searching for the young man she had known all those years ago. When she recognised him, her heart leaped.

Flinging open her front door, she ran down the path to greet him; a small round woman with a mop of wild auburn hair and a crinkly, homely face that made you smile. ‘Harry, me darlin’! I’ve been watching out for youse both …’ Her Irish lilt was music to his ears. ‘Sure I was worried you might change your mind, but now look, here you are at long last!’ He had not changed, she thought. He was taller, wider of shoulder, and life had etched itself in his face, but it was him – Harry Boy – the lad she had cared for all those years ago. Her surrogate son.

She grabbed Harry as he got out of the car, and for a long time, they clung to each other. He had not realised just how desperately he needed to see that familiar, welcoming face and to feel those chubby comforting arms about him. The bright eyes were the same, and the wide, ready smile, filled with such kindliness.

‘Aw, Harry Boy … will ye look at yourself? Isn’t it the strong fine man you are!’ She held him at arm’s length, her quick brown eyes travelling the length and breadth of Harry’s physique. ‘Ah sure, you’ve not changed a bit. You’re the same handsome, capable fella with the same dark eyes and wild mop of chestnut-coloured hair.’ A tear brightened her eyes. ‘You’ve a sadness about ye though,’ she murmured. ‘I can see I’ll have to bring back that winning smile, so I will.’

‘Oh, Kathleen.’ Harry was deeply touched by her concern. ‘You can’t know how wonderful it is to see you again.’ Moved by a well of emotion, he clutched hold of her shoulders. ‘We’ll never be able to thank you enough.’

‘Give over with you! Sure, I’m only glad you’ve arrived safely, so I am.’ She covered him in a beaming smile. ‘And I am so longing to see the darlin’ child.’

Peering into the back of the car, she gleefully clapped her hands together. ‘Oh now, will ye look at the little fella. Sure, it doesn’t seem a minute since yerself was just a lad.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure I don’t know where the years have gone … and now here ye are with a wee bairn of yer own.’

Gently waking Tom, and helping him out of the car, Harry watched as Kathleen took him into those fat little arms, her face wet with tears. ‘Oh, but I’m glad you’re back, Harry,’ she told him fondly. ‘An’ now you’ve brought a little angel with you … Tom, a grand name, and a grand little face.’ She kissed the sleepy upturned face, and thought how lost the little boy must be without his beloved mammy.

Thinking of Harry’s young wife, taken all too soon, she caught his quiet gaze. ‘I’m sorry, me darlin’, about what happened. It’s been hard going for you and the wee bairn, I know that.’

Harry nodded, tears in his own eyes. ‘I feel lost, Kathleen,’ he admitted brokenly. ‘Me and the boy both.’

Smiling through the emotional moment, she grabbed them both into her embrace. ‘Ah sure, ye have me, so y’do,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll look after youse, don’t you worry about that.’

‘You’re a woman in a million,’ Harry told her. ‘I don’t know what Tom and I would have done without you. And all those years back, whenever my life took a bad turn, you were always there, ready to put me back together again.’

He had been away for so long, and yet he remembered it all, as if it was only yesterday.

Since the day he left Fisher’s Hill, he had regretted the hurt he caused; though given the same circumstances, he believed he would have to do the very same again.

Standing here outside Kathleen’s house and looking down that familiar street, he felt oddly out of place. It was as though he was looking through a darkened window into the past. It was the strangest feeling, with his emotions torn in every direction.

Sensing his turmoil, Kathleen assured him, ‘I kept my word, Harry. I never told anyone that you were on your way back.’

Harry nodded. ‘And Judy? How did she get through it? What happened to her, Kathleen? I need to know.’

The small woman slowly shook her head. ‘Judy is long gone from the street.’ Glancing at the child, she suggested quietly, ‘Best if we talk about it later, eh?’

He understood. ‘You’re right,’ he answered. ‘This isn’t the time.’ He had not expected to be disappointed at the news of Judy’s leaving, but he was.

Kathleen saw his reaction. ‘You’ve had a bad time of it, you and the bairn,’ she murmured. ‘I know how hard it must have been for you to come back here.’ Her quick, warm smile was like a ray of sunshine. ‘But if it’s peace of mind ye’re after, sure you’ve come to the right place.’

Harry nodded in agreement. It had taken all his willpower to come home, but he was here now, and more importantly, it was what his darling Sara had wanted.

Not for the first time, he counted his blessings. He had rekindled his friendship with dear Kathleen, he had his precious son, and the unforgettable memories of Sara, and he was immensely grateful. Yet, even with all of that, he still felt incredibly alone.

Both his parents were long gone; there were no brothers or sisters or any other relatives that he knew of, and his happy-go-lucky schoolmates, with their passion for girls and motorbikes, by now had probably moved away and had wives and families.

Here in this ordinary place, he had lived with the consequences of drunken, violent parents. He had experienced terror of a kind that no child should ever encounter. But he had forged deep friendships, and found his first real love in a girl called Judy. It had been an overwhelmingly beautiful experience, and to his dying day he would never forget how it was. But it was never meant to last, and for that he would be forever sorry.

Then, when he was at his lowest ebb, he had found another love – oh, not like before, because a man’s first love is too deep and fulfilling to ever forget – but little Tom’s mother, Sara, was a wise and beautiful creature with a generous heart. He came to love her deeply, but it could never be the same, all-consuming love he had felt for Judy, the young, sweet girl who had wakened his manhood and opened his heart like summer after winter.

Sara though, had been his salvation. She was forgiving and thoughtful, and he regarded himself as a very fortunate man to have had such joy and beauty in his life.

Over and over, he recalled the night when he had confided in Sara, revealing how it had been between himself and Judy, and of the awful manner in which their relationship had ended.

Sara did not blame or scold, nor did she judge. Instead, she listened to him, but it was never forgotten; not by him, and he knew not by her. Yet she stood by him, like the gentle person she was.

But it was never enough! He needed to confront the demons. He needed forgiveness from the very person he had hurt. But that was not to be, and so he had learned to live with the guilt.

‘Come on now, Harry Boy,’ Kathleen said cheerfully, as she waddled back up to the house. ‘Let’s get your man inside.’

Hoisting his yawning son into his arms, Harry took a moment to follow, his attention still trained on number twelve. So, Judy had gone, and now he might never be able to make amends.

He let the past take him for a while.

Then he turned and hurried after Kathleen.

## Chapter Three

THE MINUTE HE walked into Kathleen’s cosy little parlour, Harry felt at home. He stood, the child once more deeply asleep in his father’s arms, and took a long look about him.

On the whole, it had not changed from the place he had fondly remembered all those years. The wood-panelled door was still the same, with its brass knocker and big iron handle, and the prettiest stained-glass window right at the top.

Once inside the tiny parlour his senses warmed to the familiar scent of snuff. He recalled how Kathleen had a weakness for it. When she thought no one was looking, she would take the smallest pinch of brown powder from the little silver box, pop it on the back of her hand, then she’d sniff it up her nose until her eyes watered and the ensuing sneeze took her breath away. Harry had always thought it comical, how after a pinch or two, the snuff formed an odd kind of moustache round her top lip.

It was oddly comforting to think she still enjoyed that secret ‘little pinch o’ snuff’.

The old leather chair that used to sit beside the fireplace was gone, and in its place was a smart brown chair with wide arms and long wooden legs. The old chair had been special to Kathleen’s husband, Michael.

Harry had not forgotten the news which Kathleen imparted when they first spoke on the phone. ‘I’m sorry about Michael,’ he said awkwardly now.

Her smile momentarily disappeared. ‘Me too,’ she murmured. Then, in her usual robust manner, she deliberately changed the subject, took a deep breath and brought Harry’s attention to the new décor. ‘As you can see, I’ve changed a thing or two these past years.’

Looking about, Harry noticed the new lemon-coloured curtains, where before there had been pretty floral curtains of pink and green. The rug before the fireplace had been a crescent-shaped one, a rag rug that Kathleen had made herself. Now though, there was a smart, oval red rug with a border of cream-coloured roses; and the old brown horsehair sofa had been replaced with a dark blue cloth-covered one, with big round wooden feet and wooden arms where you might easily rest your cup of tea.

Kathleen’s idea of comfort was as old-fashioned as the darling woman herself. Her home was a welcoming place where folks could put up their feet and rest awhile, or stay a week, whichever suited.

‘We’ve got gas fires now,’ Kathleen proudly informed him. ‘Oh, and we’ve got rid of the old bed,’ she revealed. ‘Lord knows, I’ve been cracking me head on them iron knobs for long enough. Sure, it’s a wonder me old brains aren’t scrambled.’

She went on with a grin. ‘As you well know, my Michael loved that bed, creaks and all. For years I fought him tooth and nail for a new one, but the stubborn old eejit was having none of it.’

Recalling the fierce but friendly arguments concerning the bed, Harry was curious. ‘So how did you manage to persuade him?’

Kathleen gave out a raucous laugh, then quickly shushed herself. ‘Michael had a night out with his mates down the pub, dominoes and drinking till the early hours, the buggers! The ting is, he staggered home totally blathered, setting off the dogs and waking up the street, he was! Then he was singing and now he was threatening at the top of his voice: “Me name is Michael O’Leary, an’ I’ll knock out the lights of any man who gets in me way!”’

Harry had to laugh. ‘So, did anyone challenge him?’ Going to the sofa, he gently laid the child down.

‘No, thank the Lord. Sure, they’d have more sense than to tackle the likes of him! Well, anyway, I heard him arriving – in fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole world didn’t hear him! He fell in the door, crawled up the stairs and crumpled into bed. Five minutes later he was away with the fairies.’

Harry had always thought Michael to be a lovable old rogue. ‘But if he was asleep, he couldn’t cause you any trouble, could he?’

‘Aye, well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you, eh?’ she sighed. ‘Had a nightmare, he did, thrashing about in a fight with some fella down the pub. The old bed was a-shaking and a-heaving, and suddenly it collapsed. The bedhead fell over and trapped Mikey by the neck. He was yelling and bawling, and saying how he could “feel the vengeance of the Lord”.’

With a hearty chuckle she finished the tale. ‘I told him to shut up his yelling, or he would feel the vengeance o’ me yard-broom across his backside!’

Harry was laughing as he had not laughed for weeks, until he thought of poor Michael. ‘He wasn’t hurt bad, was he?’

‘Aw, bless ye, Harry Boy … sure he wasn’t hurt at all; or if he was, he didn’t admit it.’

Taking a breath, she went on, ‘The very next morning he was off for a game o’ pool with his mates, but before he left, he called Patrick Mason. He asked would he call round and see if he could mend the bed. A while later, Patrick came and took a look. “I’ll have it good as new in no time at all!” he said.’

There was a definite twinkle in her eye. ‘I asked him how much would it cost to have it mended, and he said four pounds, so I gave him six and told him to say it was beyond repair. So there it is! Everyone was happy. Michael had the satisfaction of knowing that he was a better man than the bed, Patrick found a few quid in his pocket, and I got the new bed I’d been after for years. So there youse have it!’

She laughed out loud. ‘Sure I couldn’t have planned the whole thing better if I’d tried.’ Making the sign of the cross on herself, she muttered humbly, ‘Poor Mikey … may the Lord rest his soul.’

‘And may the good Lord forgive you, Kathleen O’Leary.’ Harry mimicked her Irish accent well. ‘You’re a wicked woman, so ye are.’

Her burst of laughter was so infectious that Tom stirred in his sleep. ‘Away with ye, Harry Boy!’ she cried. ‘A woman has to beat the men at their own game, so she does.’

Her Irish eyes dimmed over. ‘All the same, it’s a pity he never lived long enough to enjoy the new bed,’ she sighed. ‘If he hadn’t gone into that beer-drinking contest, he might still be here to this very day.’ Then she gave a cheeky grin. ‘Mind you, I reckon he had a fine old life, and if you ask me, he’s up there with his mates – the lot of ’em drinking and carrying on like they ever did … bless their merry hearts!’

It was a tonic for Harry to hear her stories and her laughter, for it took him away from the grief and the loneliness of these past weeks. ‘You’ll never change, will you?’ he said affectionately. ‘Honestly, Kathleen, you can’t know how good it is to be here with you.’

Smiling bashfully, she brushed away his compliments. ‘I dare say the pair of youse are starving hungry, so while I go and get us a bite to eat, you’d best wake the bairn up, or he won’t sleep tonight.’

With that she left him to it, and hurried off to the kitchen.

Soon the little house was filled with the smells of wholesome good cooking. ‘Come on, you two.’ Harry was out in the back garden with Tom when she called them in. ‘The table’s all set and the food is ready, so it’s just the two of youse I’m waiting for.’ She ceremoniously ushered them inside, then told them to tuck in. ‘You’ve got fat pork sausages new from the butcher this very morning, with vegetables so fresh they stand up on the plate, and potatoes mashed from my very own kitchen garden.’ She gave Tom a wink. ‘I’ve got a juicy apple pie for afters,’ she whispered, ‘all smothered in thick creamy custard. What d’you think to that, eh?’

Tom whispered back, ‘Can I have a big piece with crust?’

Kathleen laughed aloud. ‘As big as ye like,’ she answered with a wink, and though he tried really hard, Tom could not manage a wink back, so he gave her a big gappy smile instead – which then opened the conversation as to how he lost his front tooth.

Tom explained that the fairies had taken the tooth and left him a whole shilling under his pillow, along with ‘a note, saying they were building me a new tooth straight away!’

‘Ah, well now, isn’t that grand?’ Kathleen gave a knowing wink at Harry, who was watching the two of them with a quieter heart than of late. ‘I’ve lost four back teeth meself, so I have,’ she said. ‘How much d’you think they’ll charge me to get new ones?’

Tom was amazed. ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘You’ve got big, grown-up teeth, and the fairies are only little.’ He looked at his father, then he looked at Kathleen, and in a sombre voice informed her, ‘Maybe you’d better go to the blacksmith.’

Trying not to laugh, Kathleen asked innocently, ‘The blacksmith, eh? And what does he do?’

‘He makes big shoes for big horses – I read it in the book Mammy got me for Christmas.’

For a second or two, the silence spoke volumes. ‘Oh, I see,’ said Kathleen, lightening the mood. ‘So you think I’m big as a horse, do you?’

‘Oh, no.’ Tom shook his head vehemently. ‘But he’s got bigger tools than the fairies, and he could make your big new teeth on his fire.’

‘Right.’ Kathleen plopped another sausage onto his empty plate. ‘So that’s what I’ll do then,’ she promised. ‘I’ll get my new teeth from the blacksmith. Shake on it?’ She held out her hand.

‘Shake on it!’ Tom’s happy grin said it all.

When conversation was done, and everyone was full to contentment, Kathleen left Tom and Harry chatting while she went upstairs. A few minutes later she returned with a flowery pinnie wrapped round her ample middle. ‘I’ve run a bath for the child,’ she told Harry, ‘so now you take it easy, while I get Tom ready for his bed.’

Dismissing Harry’s protests, she took the boy by the hand and chatted with him all the way up the stairs. ‘So now ye can tell me all about these fairies who had the cheek to take your lovely tooth and make you wait for a new one. If you ask me, they want a good telling off!’

Harry smiled at her antics. ‘She’s not changed,’ he chuckled to himself. ‘She’s still the same Kathleen as ever was.’

While Kathleen and Tom were getting to know each other, Harry set about clearing away the dishes and wiping down the table. He put the kettle on to boil water for the washing-up.

Kathleen was none too pleased when she bustled in. ‘Hey, you’re not here to do my job,’ she chided. ‘You leave that to me, and get yourself up them stairs. There’s a wee bairn in his bed, waiting to say goodnight to his daddy.’

Tom thanked her. ‘I’m surprised he let you wash him,’ he said. ‘It’s usually a big struggle at bathtime.’

‘Ah well now, the trick is to keep the water out of his eyes and keep him busy, with stories of hobgoblins and things of a child’s imagination.’ Regret coloured her voice. ‘I never had childer of my own, but I’ve looked after a few in my time, I can tell ye.’

‘Including me,’ he reminded her.

‘Oh, my!’ She had that mischievous look again. ‘So I did,’ she tutted. ‘Isn’t that dreadful? I’d completely forgotten about you.’

Smiling to himself, he crossed the room. ‘You’ll find him in the box room,’ she called out. ‘He’ll be watching for you, I’m sure.’

It was a while before Harry came down, and as he walked towards her, Kathleen thought he seemed more at ease. ‘Is the bairn sleeping?’ she asked.

‘Like he hasn’t slept since—’ He pulled himself up short. ‘Yes, he’s sleeping soundly, thanks to you and your magic stories.’

‘It’s always wise to have a few magic stories up your sleeve; you never know when you might need them,’ Kathleen said.

Harry glanced at the pile of dishes to be put away. ‘D’you need a hand?’

‘No, thank you. What I need is for you to sit down and put your feet up. Sure I’ll have these dishes sorted in no time, then, if you’re up to it, you and me will have a heart-to-heart. Would you like that? Or are you feeling a bit weary, what with the long drive an’ all?’

Harry was not ready for sleep. In fact, he desperately needed a catch-up with Kathleen. He had so many questions, and so much to tell. ‘Yes, I’d like that – if you’re sure?’

‘I said so, didn’t I?’ She shook her dishcloth at him. ‘Go on then. Take yourself away to the sitting room and I’ll be with you in no time at all.’

Harry gratefully took his leave. He went into the front room and sat awhile, thinking how welcoming Kathleen’s little house was. He thought about the past and the present and the future, and he grew increasingly restless. It was only a matter of minutes before he got out of the chair and, passing the kitchen, strolled out of the back door and into the garden where the evening shadows had begun to move in.

For what seemed an age he stood by the door, his gaze sweeping that pretty, tiny garden he had known so well as a boy.

Few things had changed. The apple tree was still there, its far-reaching branches touching the bedroom windows as always. The wooden gate that led onto the back lane was still wonky, and the bolt that secured it was still hanging by a thread.

The garden path was new though; where before it had been hardcore and broken concrete, it was now paved with pretty square blocks. The vegetable patch was obviously still in use, because the fork was standing up in the soil. And the patch of grass under the window was forever worn where Kathleen walked when cleaning the windows.

Walking to the far end of the garden on this, the last day of summer, he sat on the same iron bench that he had sat on as a teenager; though it was succumbing to rust in places. As he looked about at all the familiar things, he felt a great sense of homecoming.

He closed his eyes and he could see Judy, the girl who had awakened him to beauty and love, and whose image he had never really lost.

In that split second, steeped in memories, he could not see his beloved Sara. That was when the tears broke loose and he could not stop them. Instead he leaned forward, head in hands, and sobbed at the cruelty of it all. ‘Sara.’ He said her name over and over. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to see her right there, where he could stretch out his arms and hold her so tight she would never leave him again.

From the kitchen window Kathleen saw, and her heart ached for him. ‘Oh, dear boy,’ she murmured. ‘Stay strong. The pain will surely ease, but maybe not the loneliness … ever.’ She knew all about that, since the loss of her own dear Michael.

Not wanting to intrude on Harry’s private grief, she waited a while. She had the pot of tea all ready on the tray, and a plate of biscuits for dunking. Now though, she poured the tea down the sink and slipped the biscuits back into the box.

Going to the sitting room she took out a bottle of the finest brandy from the bottom cupboard, collected two glasses from her best cabinet and, armed with her cure for all ills, she made her way to the kitchen window. Harry, she could see, had come through a very bad time, and was only now appearing to be more in control of his emotions.

‘Ah! There y’are, Harry Boy,’ she slowed her step, wisely allowing him time to recover. ‘When I couldn’t find you in the house, I thought you might be in the garden.’

‘Sorry, Kathleen, I should have told you where I’d be.’ Thankful for her timely intervention, he suspected she had seen him, and was grateful that she made no mention of it.

Falling heavily onto the bench, she gave out a cry. ‘Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! It strikes cold to the nether regions, an’ no mistake!’

Harry grinned. ‘Here – swap places. I’ve warmed my seat up.’ He spied the bottle of brandy and the glasses. ‘So, what’s all this then?’

‘A party in a bottle,’ she laughed. ‘It’s September tomorrow, me laddie. The night air is a bit thin an’ we don’t want to end up with raging pneumonia, now do we, eh?’ She brandished the bottle. ‘This little beauty will chase away the cold, while we sit and talk.’

Placing both glasses in his fist, she told him, ‘Hold the little divils still while I open this ’ere bottle.’

She twisted with all her might until suddenly the top was out and the brandy breathing. ‘Nothing better than a drop o’ the good stuff to warm the cockles,’ she promised, pouring out two good measures.

That done, she replaced the top and stood the bottle on the ground beside her. ‘Bottoms up, Harry me boy!’ Raising her glass, she toasted, ‘Here’s to you and that darlin’ boy of yours – and brighter days ahead for us all.’

Harry drank to that. ‘To all of us! And you’re right,’ he recalled her earlier remark, ‘we do need to talk … if you’re not too tired, that is?’

‘I don’t mind if we sit out here all night,’ she replied. ‘It may be a bit nippy, but the moon is lovely and we’ve got our friend the brandy.’ She settled back in her seat. ‘You and me need to clear the air … especially you, Harry Boy. A trouble shared is a trouble halved. Isn’t that what they say?’

For a time they sat together, two old friends, thrown closer together by life’s cruelties. They had always been easy in each other’s company, and though the two of them had long been separated by time and distance, right now, seated together on that familiar iron bench in that little garden, it was as though they had never been apart.

‘I missed you, Harry Boy.’ Kathleen did not look up. Instead she took a sip of her brandy. ‘For a long time I waited for you to get in touch, after the war ended, or maybe turn up at the door, but you never did. When the years passed and there was no word, I didn’t know what to think. I had no idea where you were, or what you were doing after you were demobbed.’

Harry explained, ‘I just kept going. I didn’t know or care where I would end up.’ When Sara came on the scene, he was little more than a tramp. ‘You can’t imagine how often I wanted to get in touch, but I was too ashamed.’

‘Don’t fret about it,’ she chided. ‘You’re home now, you and little Tom.’ She glanced up at him, her voice charged with emotion. ‘Judy waited for you, every day she was at the window, hoping you’d come striding down the street.’

There was a moment of quiet, before Harry answered in a choked voice, ‘I never meant to hurt her. You know that, don’t you, Kathleen?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘I did love her … so very much.’

‘I know that too.’

‘Do you think I was wrong in leaving like that?’

After carefully considering his question, Kathleen answered in her usual forthright manner. ‘Yes, if truth be told, I do think you were wrong. But who could blame you? There you were, just a lad, when all’s said and done, and it must have seemed like you’d got the world on your shoulders. You weren’t ready or equipped to deal with what Judy told you.’

Harry admitted it. ‘I was knocked for six. I had no idea how to deal with it.’

‘I’m not surprised. What Judy did was silly, plain wrong – and you were right to feel afraid and deceived. But she did it out of love for you, Harry Boy. Oh, don’t get me wrong! I’m not denying that she created a frightening situation, and that the two of youse desperately needed someone to turn to. Thankfully, I was here for Judy, but you made it impossible for me to be there for you, and to tell you the truth, it took me a long time to forgive you for running off to enlist like that.’

When he made no comment, she went on, ‘You ought never to have gone away like that, in the depth of night, without telling a soul where you were going.’

She cast her mind back, to the way he and Judy had gone into the garden to discuss their future, and how he came back into the house, pale as a sheet and without a word to say. She heard him pacing his room half the night. In the morning when she called to him, he was already gone.

‘Kathleen?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you honestly think it might have been better if I’d stayed?’

The little woman shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think that,’ she told him. ‘In fact, to tell you the truth, taking everything into consideration, I don’t believe you had much of a choice. I dare say you did the only thing you could … in the circumstances.’

Harry recalled the moment that Judy had delivered her shocking revelation. ‘Judy lied to me. Time and again, she deliberately deceived me. If she truly loved me, how could she do that?’

Even now, he could not believe that it had gone so far. ‘Fourteen,’ he groaned. ‘She was only fourteen! Why did she let me go on believing she was sixteen! Didn’t she realise I could have been sent to prison?’

That night, when Judy had confided in her, the very same thought had entered Kathleen’s mind. ‘I can’t condone what Judy did,’ she conceded, ‘but she loved you, Harry. She was obviously carried away by her feelings for you, and then it was too late to tell you she wasn’t old enough for a full relationship.’

‘If only she’d told me earlier, we could have put it all on a different footing. I loved her enough to wait until she was older. But she led me to believe that everything was all right and I, like a damned fool, swallowed every word she said.’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t just that she lied about her age,’ he confided. ‘That was bad enough, but the other thing …’ His guilt was tenfold. ‘I just couldn’t cope.’

Kathleen could see how deep it had gone with Harry, but from the anger and the hurt he was showing now, she was left in no doubt but that he still had feelings for Judy, every bit as much as he did back then.

‘She told me she had never loved anyone else, not in the way she loved you.’ Kathleen paused, before going on in a softer voice, ‘Deep down you already know that, don’t you, Harry?’

Harry had told himself the very same over the years. ‘What really matters is that I should have stayed and faced it like a man. The truth is, I didn’t know what to do. Like a coward, I panicked and ran.’ Agitated, he got up to pace back and forth like a trapped animal. ‘You think that too, don’t you, Kathleen – that I did a cowardly thing?’

Kathleen shook her head. ‘You’re wrong,’ she assured him. ‘You were a fine boy then, and you’re a fine man now. You were never a coward; you never could be, because it’s simply not in your make-up.’

‘So if it wasn’t cowardice, what was it that made me run? Why couldn’t I face it head on?’

‘Because the enormity of the situation was beyond you, that’s why.’

‘Did she tell you everything?’

Kathleen confirmed it. ‘The following day, when Judy realised you were gone, she told me everything. I’ll admit, I was just as shocked as you – on both counts! Like you, I assumed that she was at least sixteen or seventeen. She certainly looked it. None of us had any reason to doubt her word.’ She recalled the moment when Judy admitted to having lied about her age.

Then came the second bombshell, which rocked Kathleen to her roots, and there was something else too. All the while Judy was telling her, about the fact that she was only fourteen, and that Harry had made her with child, there was something about Judy’s story that made Kathleen feel uneasy.

To this day, she suspected that Judy had deliberately hidden the real truth from her, and from Harry.

Like Harry, Kathleen had always loved and trusted Judy, but on that occasion she was made to ask herself: what did they really know about Judy? After all, the Roberts family had not been in the street long enough for folks to really get to know them.

Nevertheless, her affection for the girl had not wavered.

Remembering now, she smiled. ‘From the very first I thought Judy was special. She was such a pretty, shy young thing who hardly had two words to say for herself. Of course, it was rumoured that her mother ruled the family with a rod of iron.’

Harry had heard that too. ‘Judy talked about her father a lot, but she hardly ever mentioned her mother. In fact, she hardly ever talked about her past, or where they’d come from. I got the impression that her mother kept her on a short string, that she didn’t care for her to meet other people.’

‘She always found a way to be with you though,’ Kathleen reminded him. She made a wide gesture with her hands. ‘Oh, and didn’t she love this little garden! The very first time you brought her home, you spent the whole evening, talking and laughing and making plans, here on this very bench.’

Harry recalled every magical minute of it. ‘Like you say, Kathleen, she really was very special.’ His manner darkened. ‘And when she needed me most, I let her down.’

‘Maybe you did, but if Judy had not lied to you about her age, the whole sorry matter would never have happened.’ She called him to sit down beside her again, then announced: ‘I’m the one who should be sorry.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because neither of you found it in your heart to trust me. If you’d come to me, I might have been able to find a solution.’

‘What solution, Kathleen?’ Harry was on his feet again. ‘I loved Judy more than I can say. I thought she loved me too, but how could she, if she was prepared to let me go on believing she was old enough to have a full relationship? She knew I could have been taken away by the authorities, and still she went on lying to me.’

He sat beside her. ‘She was fourteen,’ he groaned again. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when she told me that, and then, as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, she told me she was pregnant with my child!’

Even after all this time, he could still feel the horror of that night. ‘She said if her mother found out, she would kill us both! I know I should have reacted differently, but all I could think of was to get away. Oh, it wasn’t all about her parents, or the police. It was about Judy being so young, and the child.’

‘She told me that you gave her the money to pay for an illegal abortion.’

Harry was deeply ashamed. ‘I didn’t know what else to do, and she insisted it was for the best. But she was wrong. We both were.’

He walked to the window where he stood silent for a while. ‘Believe me, Kathleen.’ He turned to address her. ‘I swear I would give anything to turn the clock back.’

‘Sure, don’t I know that already?’ She had seen the regret in his face and in his voice whenever he mentioned Judy’s name. ‘It’s all in the past now. What’s done is done and can’t be undone. You went on to make a new life and so did Judy. Don’t punish yourself, Harry Boy. You need to remember, you were not alone in making the situation. So, please, listen to me.’

She tugged at his sleeve. ‘If you don’t let the bad memories go, son, they could well destroy you.’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You could be right.’

‘Don’t forget, you have the boy to think of. Moreover, from what I’ve learned of Sara, she would not want you to torment yourself this way, would she, eh?’

‘No.’ Harry was brought up sharp by Kathleen’s wise words. ‘Sara would not want that.’

‘It seems you found a good woman in her. Tell me, Harry. What was she really like?’

The memory of Sara was bittersweet for Harry. ‘She was wonderful. Understanding … forgiving. If you’d known her, you would have loved her.’

Until now, Harry had not realised how much he needed to talk about Sara. ‘When I saw the relationship was getting serious, I told her all about Judy. I was afraid of losing her, but knew I had to take that chance.’

‘So – did you tell her everything – about the bairn, and how Judy lied about her age?’

‘I did, yes. After what happened with Judy, I was determined from the start that there would be no secrets between me and Sara.’

‘Sure, that’s as good a way as any to start a relationship.’ Kathleen fully approved.

‘I told her how Judy’s family was new into the street and that no one knew much about them. I described how we were drawn to each other from the first moment we met, the day she dropped all her shopping right in front of me. I explained how we naturally drifted into a serious relationship, and that it never occurred to me to ask about Judy’s age, especially when she had the look and manner of a much older girl.’

He could picture Judy in his mind so clearly. ‘I told her how sincere and lovely Judy was, and how for some reason known only to herself, she let me believe she was older than her years.’

‘You did right to tell Sara.’ Kathleen had no doubts on that score. ‘As for Judy, we were all fooled with regards to her age. I mean, she never went to school, at least not as far as we knew. So, it was natural to assume that she had left all that behind her. Anyway, lots of people left school at fourteen.’

‘But I should have known,’ Harry groaned. ‘Somehow, I should have known.’ He recalled one particular thing that had bothered him at the time, but Judy had explained it away, and he had had no reason to doubt her explanation.

Now though, having recalled the incident, he began to wonder.

He chose not to disclose this to Kathleen because it was a delicate, womanly thing, and he would find it embarrassing to talk about.

The truth was, that first and only time he and Judy made love, she was unusually nervous; almost as though she didn’t want to. In fact, he was so concerned he backed off, but Judy was adamant. ‘It’s what I want,’ she insisted.

Afterwards though, he felt as if he had betrayed her.

As it turned out, in the end, it was Judy who betrayed him.

Kathleen asked now, ‘How did Sara react to what you told her?’

‘Much like you … with compassion. She took it in her stride and urged me to track Judy down. “Put it to rest, once and for all,” is what she said, but at the time, I thought it might be best to leave it behind us.’

‘So, what made you come back now, after all this time?’

‘It was Sara. When we were told she was not long for this world, she made me promise that I would contact you, and ask if Tom and I could come home.’

‘She was very wise, your Sara.’

Harry chuckled. ‘Sometimes, when I thought I was on my own, she would be watching, almost as though she knew what I was thinking. She felt my guilt. She knew I wanted to make amends with Judy, but didn’t know how.’ He was convinced of it. ‘Otherwise, why would she be so insistent that Tom and I should come back here?’

Practical as ever, Kathleen went on to dash his hopes. ‘Maybe it was all for nothing,’ she suggested thoughtfully. ‘Especially with Judy long gone from the street.’

Harry could not hide his disappointment. ‘Where did she go?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is after you’d gone away, she came to see me – in a frantic state she was. She told me everything. She admitted that she was only fourteen, and that she was with child. She said you had given her money and she’d already arranged to visit some old woman who, she claimed, had a reputation of dealing with unwanted babies. I tried my best to stop her. I even threatened to go and see her parents, but she warned me not to, because if her mother found out, she would skin her alive. So, I offered to find her a private clinic, if she really thought that was the right thing to do.’

‘So, what did she do?’ Harry’s guilt was tenfold.

‘I truly believed she was listening to what I had to say. I got her to promise not to do anything until she’d thought it through. I asked her to come back as soon as she felt able, and between us, we would find a way to deal with it.’

Saddened, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘When I didn’t see her for a while, I assumed she was still giving it some serious thought. Then a short time later, she told me she had already been to this woman, and that everything was all right now.’

Harry blamed himself. ‘If I hadn’t given her the money, she would never have done it.’ Now he wanted to know, ‘Where can I find this woman who gets rid of unwanted babies?’

Kathleen bristled. ‘If I knew that, Harry Boy, I would be speaking to the authorities.’

‘And are you really sure that Judy was all right afterwards?’

Kathleen nodded. ‘Like she said, everything was dealt with.’

‘Do you have any idea where she is now?’

‘’Fraid not. All I know is, soon after Judy came to see me, she and her family moved away. I don’t know why they left the street, or where they went. If I did I would tell you, so I would.’

Harry believed she was telling the truth.

‘How can I find her?’ he asked now. ‘Where should I look?’

‘Do you really want my opinion?’

‘Of course.’

‘Leave it be. Let her go, Harry Boy. Sometimes, raking over old coals can get you badly burned. They may look dead, but somewhere underneath, the flame often burns on.’

‘Kathleen!’ Harry felt that she was hiding something. ‘Do you know where Judy is?’

The little woman shook her head. ‘Wherever she is now, she’s obviously managed to put it all behind her. Happen you must do the same. Years have passed and things have changed. It’s time to look forward now. You need to build a future, for you and your son.’

The two of them talked well into the night, moving back indoors when it grew too chilly outside.

Harry wondered if there was work to be found locally, and Kathleen gave him a few pointers. ‘Well, there’s the Plysu factory in Woburn Sands,’ she said. ‘They’ve extended the business and need more people. Oh, and I heard that Jacobs’ Store in Bedford needs a new tallyman. Old Ernie Wright’s done the job for over twenty years, but he’s retired now.’

She was convinced. ‘That one should suit you down to the ground. You’ll get a good wage and you’ll be out and about, meeting all kinds of folks. What’s more, you’ll be able to work out your own route and timetable.’

She laughed out loud. ‘Old Ernie met a lot of naughty women on his rounds, including his second wife. He used to stop at every house and have a cuppa … though he never accepted a slice o’ cake until he got here.’ She gave another cheery, infectious giggle. ‘That’s because he knew the best cake lived at my house!’

Harry was highly amused, and for a time they got sidetracked; but then he needed to bring the conversation back to work. ‘So, what is a tallyman?’ he asked. If it was anything to do with figures he’d be fine, as he had often worked as a bookkeeper after leaving the Army.

‘If you call at the store, sure they’ll tell you all about it. And you know what? I reckon you’re just the fella they’re looking for.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ He was certainly interested. ‘In that case, I might just go and have a word with them.’

Later that night, when Harry and Tom were fast asleep, Kathleen sat at the kitchen table supping her bedtime drink.

In her mind she went over the conversation with Harry. ‘It’s a curious thing,’ she muttered, clearing away her cup, ‘how the love and devotion of two young people can create such a lifetime of heartache.’

Turning out the lights, she shuffled her way up the stairs and into her room, where she softly closed the door.

A moment later, with her arms raised to close the curtains, she took a few seconds to marvel at the night skies. She had always thought the heavens were uniquely magnificent. With a myriad of twinkling diamonds against a forever carpet of midnight blue, there could be no other creation like it in the whole world.

She stayed awhile, letting the beauty sink into her senses, then she quietly addressed the heavens. ‘Well, Judy, here we are,’ she whispered. ‘Your boy is home again. Sure, he’s a tortured man, and he’s looking to find his first love. So, what are we going to do, Judy m’darlin’? How will it all end, I wonder. And where are you now? What have you done with your life? More than that, did ye find happiness … or are ye haunted, just like yer man?’

She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, thinking and wondering; recalling the very last conversation she had had with Judy.

After a time, she undressed and slid between the sheets, but she was deeply troubled, and not only because of the things she and Harry had openly discussed.

More importantly, it was the very things she had deliberately kept from Harry, that wounded her most and which made her deeply ashamed for the first time in her life. Bad things touching on abortion, family and wickedness. And especially the fact that Judy had come to see her another time; with news that had lifted her old heart in forgiveness.

She had toyed with the idea of telling Harry, then thought it kinder, and wiser, to let him believe what she had just now told him. It wasn’t her secret to reveal. Moreover, her suspicions were now substantiated. Yet doubts still tormented her.

She still didn’t have the whole story. At one point she had almost got the truth out of Judy; until the poor girl grew afraid and ran away.

‘Harry has a right to know my thoughts,’ she whispered to the darkness, ‘but oh, dear Lord, how can I ever be sure?’

She knew one thing though. Harry had already been the victim of deception. If the truth was even more disturbing, and Judy had not entrusted him with it, she would not be surprised if he turned his back on her and Judy for all time.

Turning over, she closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. There were things on her mind that should be spoken out loud.

After a time, she climbed out of bed and went softly on tippy-toes down the stairs. She entered the kitchen, closed the door behind her and made herself another cup of cocoa. Then she sat at the table, rolling the cup about in her hands and thinking what to do.

‘Not telling him of my suspicions is tantamount to betraying him yet again!’ she chided herself. ‘That’s exactly what Judy did, and that’s what drove him away for all these years. He deserves to know!’ The truth played heavy on her mind.

She was all for telling him, and then she was not, and now she was desperately trying to justify keeping him in the dark. ‘If I tell him now, it will cause more heartache, so it will.’

Pushing her cocoa aside, she left it untouched and crept back to her bed. Rightly or wrongly, her decision was made. She intended to keep her own counsel, for the alternative would be too cruel for everyone concerned.

‘He’ll find her, or he won’t!’ she muttered as she clambered back under the bedclothes. ‘Either way, I can’t be the one to stir up trouble. He’s had enough upset in his life, without me adding to his burden now.’

Before drifting into a restless sleep, she turned her sad gaze to the window.

‘Forgive me,’ she begged some unseen entity. ‘I can’t voice my thoughts just now, but for Harry’s sake, I only hope and pray I’m doing the right thing by remaining silent.’

## Chapter Four

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Harry was ready to go looking for work. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind keeping an eye on Tom?’ he asked Kathleen. Though reluctant to leave his boy behind, he had been pleased to see how the pair of them were getting on like a house on fire.

‘Do I mind?’ Kathleen was wounded. ‘Aw, sure, looking after the little fella will be a joy, so it will.’

‘I’ll be quick as I can,’ he promised Tom.

‘I don’t mind, Daddy.’ Tucking into one of the apple tarts Kathleen had baked that very morning, Tom proudly informed him, ‘Kathleen’s taking me on the bus to Bedford. We’re looking for new shoes for when I go to school.’

Harry was puzzled. ‘What about the shoes your mammy bought for you?’

Tom frowned. ‘My feet won’t stop growing, and now the shoes are squeezing all my toes up. Kathleen says when I grow up like you, I’ll probably have feet the size of meat plates.’

‘Is that right?’ Fishing in his wallet, Harry declared, ‘We can’t have my son walking about with his toes sticking out the end of his shoes!’ He gave Kathleen enough money for shoes and socks, and a bit extra for a meal and bus fare.

‘So, am I not allowed to buy the boy a new pair of shoes?’ Kathleen feigned an air of indignation. ‘Kathleen O’Leary’s money is not good enough, is that what you’re saying?’

Harry played her little game. ‘Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give it back?’

‘What! You really want me to give it back? Shame on ye, Harry Boy! You’re a heartless divil, so ye are.’ She winked at Tom, who was beginning to realise it was just a game. ‘Tom, what d’ye think?’ she asked. ‘Should we keep your daddy’s money or not?’

‘Keep it! Yes!’ Laughing and screeching, Tom jumped up and down.

‘Behave yourselves, you two.’ Harry swung Tom up into his arms. ‘I can see I’ll have to keep an eye on the pair of you,’ he said, wagging a finger. ‘If I’m not careful, you’ll be running rings round me.’

A thought occurred to him. ‘Look, Kathleen, if you’re taking Tom into town, you might as well jump in the car with me,’ he suggested. ‘I can drop you off at the end of the market, if you like.’

Kathleen graciously declined. ‘I promised Tom we would go on the bus and he’s looking forward to it.’

‘Yes!’ Tom was like a cat on hot bricks. ‘I want to go on the bus with Kathleen, please, Daddy?’

A short time later, Harry was out of the door, into the car, and away down the street, waving all the way. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me!’ he called out.

‘We will,’ the pair replied in unison.

Kathleen’s directions were easy to follow, and within the hour, Harry had gone through Bedford Town and out towards the prison, where he took a sharp left. The store was directly in front of him, exactly where Kathleen had predicted.

Straddling the entire corner and snaking down a considerable length of the back street, the building made an immediate impression. With its great arched entrance, fancy tiles underfoot and sturdy windows, it was an obvious relic from Victorian times; and there on a massive sign, written in large black letters on a deep mustard background, was the proud announcement:

JACOBS’ EMPORIUM

ESTABLISHED 1945

EVERYTHING YOU NEED FOR HOME AND GARDEN

Drawing the Hillman Minx into the kerb, Harry switched off the engine and got out of the car. After locking the car, he stooped to regard himself in the wing mirror.

Satisfied, he straightened his tie, polished the uppers of his shoes against the back of his trousers and, taking a deep breath, he strode to the door and rang the bell at the side. There was still half an hour to go until opening time.

The painted dolly-girl had seen him coming and was eager to tend to him. ‘Good morning, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?’ Judging from her enthusiasm, she would have liked it to be her that Harry was ‘looking for’.

‘I’m here to see Mr Jacobs.’ Now that he was only minutes away from the interview, Harry’s nerves were beginning to get the better of him.

‘Ah.’ The girl looked him up and down. ‘You must be Mr Blake, applying for Mr Wright’s old job.’

‘Yes,’ Harry answered.

‘You’re younger than him.’

Harry was taken aback. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Oh no, quite the opposite as far as I’m concerned.’ Allowing him a coy little smile, she explained, ‘It’s just that, well, we’ve had all kinds wanting the job, but they were all in their late fifties, and scruffy into the bargain.’ She leaned forward to impart quietly, ‘If you ask me, they were all layabouts – probably been given the sack for not working as hard as they should. I expect they thought being a tallyman would be an easy option.’

‘And is it?’

‘Hmh!’ She gave Harry a critical look. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ she told him sternly. ‘It’s damned hard work. That’s why poor Ernie retired early … because he was worn out.’

‘How so?’ Harry had never been afraid of hard work.

‘Well, it’s just people, innit?’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, there’s those who can get really stroppy and threaten you, and those who always find some excuse not to pay. Then there’s the “other” kind.’ She gave him a knowing wink. ‘If you know what I mean.’

‘Well, no, not exactly.’ From the look in her eye, Harry guessed it was something cheeky.

‘They’re the ones who prefer to pay for goods in other ways than money,’ she giggled. ‘I reckon if we took you on, you’d soon find out about the other kind.’

‘Chatting again, Amy? Get back to your work at once!’ The voice of authority echoed across the floor.

The girl was startled. ‘Yes, Mr Jacobs. Sorry, this is Mr Blake. I was about to bring him up to you.’

Bernie Jacobs was a sizeable man with a squashy face, which was mostly covered by his huge, black-rimmed spectacles. A fair-minded man, he had hands the size of shovels, and a beer belly that would go twice round the gasworks.

‘I’ve warned you about wasting valuable time!’ he reprimanded the girl. ‘I distinctly asked that you bring Mr Blake up the minute he arrived. Instead I find you gossiping with him!’

‘I really am sorry, Mr Jacobs.’ She secretly rolled her eyes at Harry. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘It had better not!’

Addressing Harry, the boss welcomed him to the store. ‘So you’re here for the position of tallyman, is that right?’

Harry confirmed that.

‘Good!’ He looked Harry up and down, mentally applauding the way he was turned out. More importantly, he thought Harry’s manner was exactly right for the part – nice and easy, but with a layer of authority. Bernie was not one to go on first impressions, and today was no exception, though so far he liked what he saw.

As he continued to appraise Harry’s demeanour, his whole face began to shift; first the mouth went loose, then the plump cheekbones lifted the glasses up to the forehead, and now the podgy little eyes, all crinkled and beady, started blinking; all features on the move like some slow, giant sloth.

If it wasn’t so mesmerising, Harry mused, it would have been frightful. ‘Like something out of a horror movie,’ Amy commented to him later.

Suddenly, the face relaxed, and everything fell back into place. ‘Well, Mr Blake, I must say you look more capable than some I’ve had to contend with.’ He turned on his heel, calling for Harry to, ‘Follow me, young man!’

As they filed past the girl, she discreetly caught Harry’s attention, gestured to Mr Jacobs and made a face that would frighten the dead.

It took all of Harry’s self-control to keep from laughing out loud.

‘Be seated.’ Mr Jacobs gestured for Harry to park himself in the upright chair at the near end of the huge desk. When Harry was comfortable, the older man ceremoniously settled his mounds of fat in the wide, executive leather chair. ‘Hmm!’ He looked at Harry, then he glanced down, then he looked again, then he began cracking his knuckles, making a sound that put Harry’s teeth on edge. ‘Hmm!’ Then again: ‘Hmm!’

Harry felt the urge to speak. ‘Excuse my ignorance, Mr Jacobs, sir, but I’m not quite sure what a tallyman does.’

‘Really?’ The face crumpled like a sagging balloon.

He then proceeded to address Harry in that authoritative, nasal voice which was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘A tallyman is the very backbone of this business,’ he announced proudly. ‘It has been that way since I opened just before Christmas in 1945.’

Harry duly waited, while the older man lost himself in a sea of memories and pride.

All of a sudden, appearing self-conscious, he noisily cleared his throat. ‘As I was saying, the tallyman has been the link between Jacobs’ Emporium and the public at large, for as far back as the store itself has existed. He, or she as the case may be, is representative of our quality of service, and professional standing in the community.’

Harry urged him on. ‘Yes, I understand all that. But what exactly does the tallyman do?’

The face blushed pink. ‘Oh, dearie me! I’ve been wandering again. So sorry! It’s a bad habit of mine. Anyway, what were we saying …? Oh yes.’

He went on hurriedly, ‘We currently employ seven salespeople, three of whom are permanently based in the store. The remaining four salesmen are what I call “mobile”, in that they also carry out the responsibilities of the tallyman.’

Taking a deep invigorating breath, he elaborated, ‘A customer will come into the store and browse though our range of furniture and fittings, whereupon one of our salesmen, be it a dedicated floor person, or a tallyman, will then approach and assist, and when the customer makes a purchase, the paperwork is carried out in the usual way. From there, it depends on whether the client pays in full, or whether they prefer to pay in instalments, and we have numerous customers who do exactly that.’

Harry waited patiently while Bernie Jacobs paused for breath.

‘On payment by instalment, the salesman will enter it all into his ledger, and the customer is issued with a little blue book, together with the number and amount of weekly payments required.’ Leaning back in his chair he folded his arms. ‘Every week thereafter, the tallyman will call at the customer’s house, to collect payments, and issue a receipt.’

Harry needed to clarify. ‘So even though the tallyman would be partly based in the store, he will still be required to collect from his regular customers?’

‘Exactly right. Most tallymen prefer to be out on the road at the latter end of the week, say Friday. There will, of course, be a company car and necessary expenses. You must remember, the tallyman is an important ambassador for Jacobs’ Emporium, and as such I expect, and indeed insist, on the highest of moral and professional standards.’

He gave a nervous little cough. ‘I’m afraid there have been one or two indiscretions recently. The salesman responsible was very quickly given his cards and shown the door. D’you understand what I’m saying, Mr Blake?’ His words were an obvious warning.

Harry nodded. ‘I believe I do, yes.’ He recalled the young woman’s words: ‘Then there’s the “other” kind if you know what I mean?’

Mr Jacobs was now asking Harry about his past work and present ambitions. Harry outlined how, after the war, he had worked on building sites for a firm of builders for a while, then graduated to the offices, ‘where I dealt with all manner of things; like stock control, wages and accounts, liaising with the customers …’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that. After you telephoned Amy, she made a note of what you said. I have it here.’ Collecting the page from the desk, Mr Jacobs remarked, ‘I’m impressed with your many achievements, but,’ he referred to the point in question, ‘it says here that you returned to working on the building sites for personal reasons.’

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘May I ask why you would do that – go from office work back to labouring? Of course, you do understand that before I can make a decision, I will need to contact your former employers?’

Harry explained, ‘I went back to the building sites because it made fewer demands on my time. Although I enjoyed my work at the office, it meant I was there for long hours … sometimes at weekends too, when I badly needed to be at home. Whereas on the sites I could work the hours I chose. There were no telephones or accountants to deal with, and I could arrange my working day to suit the situation.’

‘What situation would that be then?’

Bracing himself, Harry revealed the reason. ‘My wife was diagnosed with a terminal illness; we both knew it was only a matter of time. I had to earn a living, yes, but she came first. I needed to be with her, you understand. Not only to console and support and to make the most of every minute available to us; there were practical things, like long stays in hospital, and our son to take care of.’

Pausing, he swallowed hard before going on to explain how, when she lost her fight against the illness, he had come back to the place where he had grown up. ‘That’s the long and short of it,’ he concluded. ‘A very dear friend has taken me and my son in, until we find a place of our own. And now I need a new job.’

‘Hmm.’ The older man had listened intently to what Harry had to say, and now he had to make up his mind. ‘Wait outside,’ he instructed. ‘Amy will get you a cup of tea. Have a walk about. Talk to people. See what you think. I’ll call you in presently.’

With that he ushered him out.

‘It looks good to me!’ Amy was delighted to have the company of this fine, good-looking fellow. ‘He kept you in there longer than the others,’ she announced cheekily. ‘I reckon he likes you.’

Harry made small talk for a time, then he wandered away and talked with the salesmen. ‘As bosses go, he’s not all that bad,’ John told him. ‘A bit pompous at times, but fair and straight when needed.’

The same sentiments were echoed by everyone Harry chatted with, although: ‘He’s a hard taskmaster.’ That was Louise, the only woman in sales.

Harry went upstairs to the bed department, and was amazed at the sheer scale and diversity of items on offer. He went across to the soft furnishings area with its wonderful displays of curtains and bedlinen, and the best selection of cushions he had ever seen, and now he was back downstairs amongst the displays of furniture, all set out as different rooms in the house. There were kitchens and living-rooms – here a piano and there a wall of pictures and paintings.

‘It’s like Aladdin’s Cave!’ He was surprised when Amy crept up on him. ‘I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it.’

She laughed. ‘You haven’t seen outside yet then. There’s lawn mowers and ladders, and everything else you might want in your backyard or garden.’ Tapping him on the arm she informed him. ‘You haven’t got time to look now though, because His Majesty has summoned you.’ Making Harry smile, she gave a little curtsy. ‘Follow me, my good man.’ Not relishing the idea of another reprimand, she then set off at a brisk pace.

After showing him into the office, she returned to her desk, delighted to offer Harry congratulations half an hour later. ‘So, you got the job?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘From your beaming face when you came out.’

It was still beaming as he walked onto the street. ‘I’ve got work, Sara my darling,’ he murmured.

Three months’ trial, a generous travelling allowance, and he was virtually his own boss.

It was an excellent start.

Kathleen and Tom were also pleased with their day.

‘You’ve worn me out, so ye have,’ Kathleen groaned as they headed for the café on the High Steet. ‘I can’t believe a little fella like you could take longer than a cartload o’ women to choose a pair of shoes: Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! Sure, ye could make a living at it.’

‘I’m not tired,’ Tom announced proudly.

‘Oh, are ye not?’ Kathleen quipped. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, ’cos I’m dropping on me feet, so I am.’

‘I’ve got money.’

‘Sure, I know that already,’ she answered. ‘Didn’t I see yer father give it to ye?’

‘I can buy you some new shoes, if you want,’ he offered grandly.

Kathleen laughed out loud at that. ‘Aw, ye little darlin’.’ She gently ruffled his hair. ‘Shall I tell ye something?’

‘What?’

‘Right now, I don’t think I’d even get a pair of shoes on me feet.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos me poor oul’ feet feel like two fresh-baked loaves.’

‘D’you want to sit down?’

‘Ah, sure I wouldn’t mind that at all.’

‘I need an ice cream.’

‘Ah! So what you’re really saying is we should find a café, where I can sit down and you can have an ice cream, and we’ll both be happy, is that it?’

‘I don’t know.’ The little boy was confused.

‘Ah, but ye’re a joy to behold, so you are! Look, there’s a café right there, and a little table for you and me, right by the window. What d’you say then?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Tom did his usual leaping up and down.

Kathleen chuckled. ‘Y’know what, m’darlin’?’

‘What?’

‘Ye’re a fella after me own heart, so ye are.’ She tightened her hold on him, and as fast as her sore old feet would take her, she rushed him across the road. ‘Will ye look at that!’ she cried merrily. ‘Sure, me feet are getting that excited, they’re almost running!’

Unbeknownst to them, a small skirmish was unfolding some way down the street. ‘Get away from me, you dirty beggar!’ Shoving the woman aside, the man hurried on. ‘People scrounging in the street. Whatever next!’

‘I wasn’t scrounging!’ The woman was close to tears. ‘I was just asking the time, you miserable old devil.’

Clad in a plain dark dress fastened at the waist with a broad belt, she looked nothing like a beggar; yet she appeared waiflike, and there was an air of desolation about her that could be mistaken for hunger of a kind.

In her early thirties, she was painfully thin, with long, fair hair and small, distinctly pretty features. Her soft grey eyes told a story; of great sadness, and fear.

As she darted her anxious gaze up and down the street, the fear was like a living entity in those sorry grey eyes.

When the hand fell on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened cry. ‘It’s all right!’ The man was a friend. Grey-haired and weathered, he was old enough to be her father.

These past years, because of her situation, he and his wife, Pauline, had taken it on themselves to watch out for her. ‘I saw you just now,’ he said as he led her away. ‘That bloody stupid man! He mistook you for some kind of beggar, didn’t he?’

She wasn’t listening, because now her attention was drawn across the street to the café, where Kathleen and Tom were settling themselves at the table. Kathleen was standing, talking to the little boy, and when suddenly she looked up, the young woman was shocked to her roots. ‘Oh, my God! It really is her! IT’S KATHLEEN!’

The man followed her nervous gaze. ‘Who’s Kathleen?’ he asked. ‘Is she a friend?’

Now she was talking to herself. ‘She’s got a child with her. Whose child is that?’ Seeming confused, she turned to the man. ‘She’s got a child! Kathleen’s got a child. Who does it belong to?’

As though a light had flicked on in her mind, she gave a soft, uneasy laugh. ‘Is it … is it?’ Giving a wry little smile, she shook her head. ‘No! It can’t be, can it?’

The man gave her a gentle shake. ‘Stop it now. You’re doing yourself no good being out here like this.’ He felt her hand. ‘You’re freezing cold, lovey. We’d best get you inside.’

She gave him the sweetest smile. ‘Did you see though? Irish Kathleen’s got a child with her.’ She had no way of knowing what it meant, but it gave her a warm feeling inside.

‘Would you like to go over and see her, this Kathleen? You could ask her whose child it is. That would put your mind at rest.’

‘No!’ Shrinking from him, her eyes swam with tears. ‘I was wrong about the child. I know that now. Besides, Kathleen would not want to see me.’ Just then in that raw moment, she remembered it all. ‘She was my friend once, but I lied to her.’

‘I see.’ Although he didn’t see at all. Nor did he understand her reluctance to say hello to someone who had once befriended her. ‘All right then. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.’

‘I want to go now, please.’

He had seen her like this before and it was a sad thing. It was even sadder to see her so obsessed with the child. It concerned him greatly.

‘We’d best go. I’ll make you one of my special cups of hot chocolate – do you a power of good it will.’

She nodded. ‘In a minute.’ Alan was landlord of the Bedford Arms, the pub on the corner. She trusted him and his dear wife Pauline above all others, but she would not be drawn on Kathleen.

‘Did you have a falling-out with that lady?’ he persisted.

‘I did not fall out with her! I already told you, she was my friend.’

‘Then you really should talk to her. After all, you need all the friends you can get.’

‘I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ She gave him a hug. ‘And Pauline?’

‘Yes, of course you’ve got me, and you’ve got Pauline, but you can never have enough friends, and this Kathleen does look a kindly old thing. You ought to get in touch with her … make amends for whatever it was that made her send you away.’

‘She didn’t send me away. I left. We all left.’ Unwilling to get into any further conversation, she threaded her arm through his and set him walking. ‘Hot chocolate sounds nice.’ She licked her lips at the thought of it.

He chuckled. ‘You’re a stubborn little devil when you choose,’ he muttered. ‘But I suppose you know best, after all.’

Back at the Bedford Arms, she made her way to the Ladies toilets, where she washed her face and combed her hair and peeked at herself in the mirror. The image that came back was pitiful. The long fair hair was dull and lank, the skin blotchy with tears, and the grey cloudy eyes had lost their sparkle.

‘Who are you?’ she asked of the image.

‘Judy Saunders,’ came the reply.

‘No! Not Judy Saunders.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘Who are you … really?’

She gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You’re a bad woman, that’s who you are. You lie and you cheat, and you’ve done terrible things. It’s good that you’re married to a man you don’t love. It’s good that you’re paying the price.’

Bunching her fist, she thumped it into her chest. ‘You should be dead!’ When the tears began again, she couldn’t stop them, and then she was laughing, soft, wild laughter like someone insane.

Running the cold water tap, she cupped her hands and splashed the water over her face for a second time. For what seemed an age, she stared at herself again in the mirror; what she saw was a shadow, without substance, without life.

‘Judy Saunders.’ She gave a snort of disgust. ‘Look at yourself! You look dead, you feel dead, so why are you able to walk about, taking up valuable space; bothering ordinary good folks in the street? You are nothing! NO ONE! You’re not loved and you’re not wanted, so why don’t you just end it? Go on, Judy. Do it properly, here and now.’

‘Judy!’ The woman’s voice startled her. ‘Alan’s made you a hot drink. What are you up to? Come on.’ The woman’s voice became anxious. ‘JUDY. Come out of there!’

The young woman quickly composed herself. ‘It’s all right, Pauline. I’ll be out in a minute.’

She looked at the scars on her arms, her empty gaze following the long meandering red lines where the knife had split open the flesh. She was shocked. Whenever she caught sight of the scars, she was always shocked.

It was hard to realise how low she had sunk.

Taking a moment to loosely flick her hair, she then lightly stroked her lips, pinched her face to give it a glow, and finally she unrolled her sleeves to cover the scars.

One last look in the mirror to make sure she looked something approaching normal, then she painted on a smile, and was ready to face the world for another day.

Lately though, the days seemed to get longer and heavier. And the burden of living was almost too much to bear.

## Chapter Five

PHIL SAUNDERS WAS looking for trouble, but that was nothing new. ‘Who’s for a pint down the pub?’ Stripping off his overalls he scanned the room, his hard stare alighting on his work-mates who had yet to respond. ‘What? None of you fancies a pint? I don’t believe it!’

‘Looks like you’re on your own, matey.’ That was Jimmy Clayton, a stick-thin man in his late forties, with a straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

‘Oh, really?’ Incensed, Phil Saunders squared his broad shoulders. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means what it says.’ The other man made a wide gesture with outstretched arms. ‘Look around. Do you see anybody rushing to join you?’

‘Oh, so now you speak for everybody else, do you? Anyway, what makes you think I give a sod whether any of you come or not? Matter o’ fact, it’s just as well, ’cos I’m a bit particular about my drinking partners.’

‘There you go then.’

Clayton’s attitude was riling Saunders, who took a step closer. ‘Seems to me like you’re itching for trouble, mate.’

‘You’re wrong. I don’t want trouble. The thing is, I’ve had to work alongside you all week. I’ve put up with your foul temper and constant complaining, because I’ve got no choice. But the last thing I need is to go drinking like we’re “mates”, because we’re not mates and we never will be.’

Saunders continued to goad him. ‘The truth is, you wouldn’t dare come down the pub in case you might have to dip into your wages; the little wife wouldn’t like that, would she, eh?’ He gave a sneering laugh. ‘I bet she waits at the door every Friday with her greedy little mitts held out, waiting for the wages you’ve sweated for.’ He sniggered. ‘I bet she even gives you pocket money.’

For what seemed an age the smaller man looked Saunders in the eye, his jaw working up and down and his fists clenched together.

‘Want to punch me, do you?’ Saunders stuck his face out. ‘Go on then, matey, you try it. We all know who would come off worse, don’t we, eh?’

‘Leave it, Phil.’ That was Arnie Reynolds, a big bumbling lump of a man. ‘There’s no need to rile him. If Jimmy doesn’t want to come for a drink, that’s his choice, and whatever his reason, it’s not for you or any of us to question.’

Taking a deep noisy breath through his nose, Saunders let it out through his mouth, together with a torrent of words. ‘You’re all the bloody same. Can’t stand on your own two feet. Lily-livered, the lot of you.’

‘Hey! That’s enough o’ that.’ Stuart McArthy was a Scot with an attitude, though unlike Saunders he was not a bully. ‘I for one happen to have a real thirst on me, so why don’t we stop the gabbing an’ make our way to the pub.’

He had a word of advice for Jimmy. ‘He’s right though, Jimmy lad. A man needs to show the little woman who’s boss. Otherwise she’ll run rings round you.’

Saunders laughed out loud. ‘That might be good advice for a real man, but y’see, our Jimmy wouldn’t know how to be a real man. He’s a coward through and through – ain’t that right, Jimmy Boy?’ A man in his prime, Phil Saunders considered himself to be a cut above the rest. ‘You won’t catch me pandering to no bloody female! Never in a million years. Anyway, what’s so different about your woman that you treat her so special, eh?’

‘She’s my wife … the mother of my children, and if that isn’t enough, I happen to love and respect her.’ Like every man jack there, Jimmy was well aware of the way Saunders treated his wife, Judy. ‘You might want to think about that,’ he added.

‘I think you’d best explain yourself!’ Saunders said dangerously.

‘I don’t have to explain anything. You asked me why I treat my wife so special and I’m telling you.’ Leaning forward, Jimmy lowered his voice. ‘I don’t treat my wife like a piece of rubbish. Nor do I take my temper out on her.’

With an animal-like growl, Saunders got him by the throat. ‘You bastard! What the hell are you insinuating, eh?’ He locked his fingers tighter, until Jimmy’s face felt like it was boiling. ‘Are you saying I don’t love my Judy … or that I don’t respect her? Is that what you’re saying?’ He squeezed his hands tighter. ‘I’ve a good mind to finish you here and now!’

Jimmy truly thought he would never see another day. He couldn’t breathe. His eyeballs felt as though they would pop right out of his head, and his tongue was clamped so hard between his teeth, he could feel the pain right through to his chest.

When in that moment, the other two men leaped forward and tore Saunders away, Jimmy fell to the ground, coughing and spluttering; thankful that he might live to tell the tale.

‘I thought you said you were off to the pub,’ intent on cooling the situation, McArthy asked of Saunders. ‘So, are you coming, or do I go without you?’

‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Glancing at Jimmy who was now up on his feet and smoothing down his hair, Saunders’ smile was pure evil. ‘It’s good to see there’s at least one man in the place besides me who knows how to spend his own hard-earned money.’

Jimmy did not rise to the bait a second time, although he managed to croak, ‘You’re a lucky man, Saunders, if you can afford to chuck your money about. As for me, I’ve got better things to do with mine. I’ve a family waiting for me, with a clutch of kids that need my every penny.’ He addressed the other two men. ‘See you.’

Saunders’ goading voice followed him. ‘Get going then, you pansy – unless you want me to help you through the door!’

‘See you tomorrow.’ The others had no axe to grind with Jimmy. If they had to choose out of him and Saunders, Jimmy was the better man.

‘What about you then, Bill?’ Saunders addressed the man next to him. Tall and willowy, Anderson was a reliable workmate who grafted tirelessly, though he kept his distance and never got caught up in heated arguments. ‘Gonna join us for a drink, are you?’

‘Nope.’ A man of few words, his conversations were short and to the point.

‘Why’s that?’ Saunders was still heated from his set-to with Jimmy.

‘Got my own reasons, and before you ask, I don’t discuss my business with anybody.’

Saunders gave a cynical laugh. ‘You’re a miserable bugger!’ But he said no more. He suspected Bill Anderson of having hidden depths; and that if he and the other man ever did have an affray, it might not be Anderson who came off worse. So, with that in mind, Saunders stayed true to form, by picking only on those weaker than himself.

Aware that Bill was growing impatient with Saunders, Arnie Reynolds moved towards the door. ‘Cheerio then, Bill, see you tomorrow.’ Turning to the others he called out, ‘Stuart! Phil! Are you two coming or what?’

With the three men gone, Bill Anderson walked over to the far end of the warehouse, where he found the worried foreman taking stock.

With a good three years to retirement, Joe Peters did not carry his age well. Having now shrivelled in size, he was permanently bent over. His spectacles were too large for his tiny face, and where he constantly screwed up his nose to keep them in place, the deep troughs of wrinkles had etched a pattern alongside his sunken cheekbones.

‘You’re like Will -o’-the-Wisp,’ Bill said, relieved to have found him. ‘One minute you’re there, the next you’re nowhere to be seen.’ Bill had always liked and respected Joe Peters, thinking him a fair-minded and honest sort.

‘I needed to check these rolls of canvas.’ Joe made a quick entry into his ledger. ‘We’re two rolls short. Whoever checked the delivery obviously didn’t do his job properly.’

‘Well, it weren’t me,’ Bill informed him abruptly.

‘Have the men gone?’

‘Yes … just now.’

‘Right, well, I’ll have to deal with it in the morning.’

‘Maybe the lorry driver had the two rolls away, thinking no one would notice,’ Bill suggested light-heartedly.

‘Maybe he did, and who could blame him, when the load isn’t properly checked as it comes off? This isn’t the first time, and if it’s not put a stop to, it won’t be the last, then we’ll all lose our jobs!’

Bill suddenly realised the implications. ‘What? Are you saying it’s one of us?’

‘I’m not sure, but you can rest easy, because you and Arnie are two men I would trust implicitly.’

‘So, you’re saying it’s either McArthy or Saunders who’s the thief?’

‘No! I am not saying that.’

Bill was persistent. ‘There is no way one man on his own could shift even one roll of that canvas.’

Looking thoughtful, the little man nodded. ‘I already thought of that. It would certainly be a difficult thing to do without anyone knowing or seeing.’ He fell into deep thought. ‘But if there was an arrangement of sorts …’

‘What kind of arrangement?’

The little man shook his head. ‘Like you said, it might be the lorry driver’s fault, after all. Or it could be that there was a mistake at the other end, and the rolls were never put on the lorry in the first place. The trouble is, there have been these other things of late …’ He lapsed into silence.

‘What things?’ Bill was curious.

‘Never you mind.’ Briskly now, the little man bade him good night.

Before he left, Bill asked the foreman, ‘Did you hear that skirmish between Phil and Jimmy?’

The little man grunted. ‘Saunders is a troublemaker. If he wasn’t a good worker, he’d be out that door so fast you wouldn’t see his heels for dust.’ He wagged a bony finger. ‘I’ll tell you this. He’s sailing very close to the wind. One more set-to like that and it’ll be his last under this roof.’

Bill nodded knowingly. He had no doubt but that the foreman was keeping a wary eye on Phil Saunders, and with every right.

‘Do you need any help finishing off here?’ Bill enquired.

‘What? You think I’m too old and frail to do my job, is that it?’ The fear of losing his work was a constant nightmare for old Joe.

‘Good God, man! I was only offering a helping hand so’s you could finish up and get away home.’ Bill was taken aback by Joe’s sharp response. ‘I’d do the same for any one of us.’

‘I know, and I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,’ Joe apologised. ‘It’s just that, well, three weeks ago I had to inform the manager about those boxes of spare machine parts that went missing, so he’s already on the alert. I did manage to sort that one out; it was a mix-up in the ordering – but he won’t be too pleased if I report that there are two rolls of top quality, heavy-gauge canvas missing, which will make us short for that big order on tents.’

‘So, d’you reckon you can get to the bottom of it, without him ever knowing?’ Bill was worried. Like Joe said, this was not the first instance of its kind, though it was the most serious.

‘I hope so. I intend following every avenue, until I do.’

After they parted and Bill was going through the door, Joe called after him. ‘BILL!’ He came scurrying towards him. ‘Don’t say a word to anyone about what you’ve been told here.’ He tapped his nose meaningfully. ‘Least said soonest mended, eh?’

‘I won’t say a word,’ Bill assured him, ‘and don’t you worry – I expect you’ll find that the driver overlooked the rolls when he loaded up at the other end.’

But as Bill walked to his car, the full impact of the incident suddenly hit him hard. Even if the driver had accidentally miscounted his load, whoever checked the rolls into the warehouse should have noticed.

It was a puzzle, and a worrying one at that. Big heavy rolls of canvas didn’t just disappear. Besides, you needed more than one man to move them. He recalled something Joe had said about an arrangement.

My God! Bill thought. Was there really a thief among them? Somebody who was willing to put all their livelihoods at risk? And if so, which one was the culprit?

Naw! he decided. I can’t believe that. I won’t! Besides, if we had a thief among us, I’m sure we’d know.

It’ll be a simple mistake, that’s what it’ll be.

But like Joe, he could not be certain.

It was a bad thing, and if it had to be dealt with by management, they’d all be under suspicion; each and every man jack of them.

After a process of elimination, his thoughts came to Phil Saunders. ‘I’d bet my life that Stuart and Arnie are as straight as the day’s long,’ he muttered. ‘But if I’m honest, I can’t be that sure of Saunders.’

He had not known Phil as long as he’d known the others, but even in their relatively short acquaintance, over two years, he had come to realise that Saunders had depths of wickedness in him.

‘Wickedness, bordering on evil!’ When he said it out loud like that, it seemed rather inconceivable but where Saunders was concerned, he should know by now, anything was possible.

He thought of Judy Saunders, the man’s wife. ‘He’s a damned bully,’ he muttered. ‘We all know that from Pauline at the Bedford Arms. There’s talk that he once beat Judy so badly, she was put in hospital for a week.’ His expression darkened. ‘Bastard! He should be hung, drawn and quartered!’

Ashamed, he glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror. That was just gossip though. Pauline herself had denied any knowledge of it, but who was to say what the truth was? As the old saying had it: there was no smoke without fire.

The pub had closed half an hour since, but two customers lingered.

‘Alan! Get him out of here!’ hissed Pauline, who had no time for Phil Saunders, and even less for the woman with him. ‘I’ve a damned good mind to turn the hosepipe on the pair of ’em!’

Pauline’s contempt was heightened by their lewd laughter and sniggering, and how the girl was whispering in Phil’s ear while he had his hand up her skirt. Phil Saunders was a married man with a spiteful side to him, while the girl was one of a shameless pack, got for two-a-penny in Bedford Town.

The one person Pauline cared about was Judy, who had to put up with this bastard.

‘Alan!’ She called her husband again. ‘Just look at them! Turn my stomach, they do. And there’s Judy waiting at home, wondering where the hell he is.’

‘Yes, all right, I can see for myself what they’re up to.’ Alan stopped wiping a table and emptied an ashtray into the bucket on the floor. Like Pauline, he was sickened to see what was going on. ‘You get off to bed, love. I’ll deal with this.’

‘I want him out NOW!’ Hands on hips, she was determined to make sure he put them both out on the pavement, with the door securely bolted behind them.

‘Listen to me, love, I’d rather you got out of the way. I’m not risking you getting involved in a skirmish. You know well enough what Phil can be like when he’s had a few. Now, go on, Pauline. Do as I ask.’ He gave her a gentle push. ‘Away upstairs with you. I’ll not be far behind.’

Bristling with anger, Pauline made her way across the room, passing Phil Saunders and the girl on the way. ‘You no-good rubbish!’ She glared down at him. ‘You should be ashamed. You don’t deserve a wife like Judy.’

‘Who the devil d’you think you’re talking to?’ Phil struggled to his feet, then fell back in the seat and was laughing out loud, one arm round the floozy and the other steadying himself on the chair. ‘Me and my friend here, we pay good money for our booze, and we don’t bother nobody. The thing is,’ he burped noisily, ‘we don’t want to be disturbed.’ He gave a lazy wink. ‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you, eh?’ He scowled. ‘So go on, bugger off and leave us to it, why don’t you?’

Before Pauline could reply, Alan was there to intervene. ‘You’d best go,’ he told Saunders. ‘And take your “friend” with you.’

‘Oh, dearie me!’ Hanging onto the woman, Saunders managed to stand up straight. ‘Want us out, do you?’

‘That’s the idea, yes.’

‘What if I said we’re not moving from here …’ he turned to grin at the girl ‘… not for a while anyway?’

‘I would not advise it.’

‘Well, we’re not going, so what d’you intend doing about that, eh?’

Alan’s answer was to take hold of the woman’s arm and lead her to the door, with Saunders tugging at her, cursing and swearing, and threatening all manner of punishment. ‘You’ll not get away with it!’ he warned the older man. ‘You know what I’m capable of when I set my mind to it.’

‘Oh yes – I know what you’re capable of all right, especially when it comes to beating up women. But you don’t know what I’m capable of. Up to now, I’ve been polite, but you wouldn’t want to push me too far!’

Handling the woman carefully, Alan prepared to usher her through the door. ‘You’d best make your way home,’ he instructed. ‘The pub’s shut and I’m about to lock up.’

‘She’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.’ Coming up behind him, Phil bumped Alan aside, grabbed the girl and yanked her backwards. The two of them lost their balance and began rolling about the floor laughing hysterically. ‘Shut up, woman!’ Saunders gave her a playful slap. ‘Come on, get me up.’

Grabbing the pair of them by the scruff of the neck, Alan pushed them out on the pavement. ‘I should shift a bit smartish if I were you,’ he advised them, ‘before the police happen along and lock you in the cells for a night.’

Addressing the girl, he gave her a piece of well-meant advice. ‘If you’ve got an ounce of common sense, you’ll stay well away from this fella. When he’s sober he’s nasty, and when he’s drunk, he’s even nastier than that.’

His meaning was clear. ‘It might be best if you didn’t hang around to find out.’

Some part of his message must have got through her drink-sozzled brain, because she fought Saunders off and began to walk unsteadily down the street on her own.

When she was far enough away, Alan hoisted Phil Saunders by the collar and slammed him against the wall. ‘You’ve got a lovely young wife at home,’ he reminded Saunders. ‘She’s worth ten of that little tart. I don’t know how you got your claws into Judy, but if I was her, I wouldn’t even let you through the door!’

Humiliated and angry, Saunders began blustering. ‘It’s none of your damned business. Judy is my woman and I’ll do as I please – have you got that?’

He then fell in a heap on the ground and lay there, burping and giggling, until suddenly his mood darkened. ‘That damned Judy! I know what she’s up to all right, and I’m telling you now – if she ever crosses me, I’ll snap her neck like a dry twig!’ He struggled to his feet, breathing heavily.

Alan snatched him by the shoulders and ground out: ‘You listen to me, sunshine.’ Shoving his face to within an inch of Saunders’s, he promised, ‘If I ever find out you’ve laid a finger on that girl, I swear to God, I’ll swing for you.’ When there came no response, he tightened his hold. ‘Did you hear what I said? Has it got through that thick mist of booze and arrogance – has it? ANSWER ME, YOU HEAP O’ RUBBISH!’

‘All right! All right! I won’t hurt her,’ came the sulky answer. Then he turned maudlin. ‘I love her, don’t you know that?’

‘You don’t love her,’ Alan said scornfully. He was aware of Judy’s story; not all of it, but enough to realise that she was as lonely and frightened as any young woman could be. ‘You wouldn’t know how to love anybody. You control her, that’s what you do. You use and defile her, then you demand her love and loyalty in return. You don’t even know her. You’ll only ever be satisfied if you bring her down to your own level, but you’ll never be able to do that, because for all her suffering and loneliness, she’s a cut above you, and always will be.’

Astonished to see tears in the other man’s eyes, he lowered his voice. ‘Let her go, Saunders!’ he urged. ‘You’re no good to her. Acting like this, you’re no good to her. The way you are now, you’re no good to anybody!’ Then, hardening his heart again, he thrust him aside. ‘Now get out of my sight. But remember what I said – Judy is a good friend to me and mine, and we’ll be watching. So you just think on that.’

‘Get off me!’ When the older man released him, Phil remained where he was, propped unsteadily against the wall, shoulders sagged and a look of defeat on his sorry face.

In his fogged mind, he did love Judy, but not with tenderness or joy. It was a spiteful love – of dictatorship, and unfounded suspicions. Deep down, he knew his wife had no feelings for him, and it drove him crazy.

Truth was, Phil Saunders had never known Judy’s love; not the kind that spoke from the heart or shone in a woman’s eyes when she looked at you. So he went on punishing her, because she could never give him what he craved – that elusive ‘forever love’ that comes only once in a lifetime.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t her fault, because how could she give him that kind of love, when she had already given it to someone else; a boy of eighteen. A boy she had deceived when she was only a kid herself.

In all these years, she had never forgiven herself for what she had done; and Phil had never forgiven her for choosing another over him.

When he too was on the brink of manhood, Saunders had witnessed at first-hand the magic that was Judy and Harry. The memories were deeply ingrained, he could see them in his mind’s eye even now, the way they laughed together and looked at each other, the way they held hands as though they could never let go.

It was because of these memories that he knew in his heart, that however much he wanted it, Judy could never be his.

Yet he continued to chase the dream, until very slowly, the love he felt for her was turning into a frenzy of resentment darkening into hatred.

At number 16 Jackson Street in the backwaters of Bedford town, Judy lay in bed, her eyes closed – but she was not asleep, never asleep; especially not on a Friday when Phil was late home from work.

Every sound outside the house made her nervous, so nervous that she had to get out of her bed and go downstairs. When the wall clock in the hallway rang out the first hour of a new day, she almost leaped out of her skin.

Shivering, she grabbed a jacket from the coat stand and, throwing it about her shoulders, she crossed into the tiny kitchen. ‘One o’clock in the morning, and he’s still out there, drinking and carrying on,’ she said out loud, ‘working himself up to fever pitch for when he gets home.’

It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver. It was fear.

Unable to settle and reluctant to go back to bed, Judy prepared herself a cup of cocoa. She carried it to the table and there she sat, her eyes darting to the door at every sound. ‘I should leave him,’ she muttered. ‘I should go away and never come back.’ But where would she go, and how would she manage?

Maybe she could find work, but what kind of work? And if her last attempt was anything to go by, how long would she be able to hold it down before they sacked her for being useless? Her nerves were shattered. She couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time, and she was incredibly uncomfortable around people.

She was constantly afraid. Afraid of being in a crowd, afraid when people approached her, and panic-stricken when she felt cornered.

So what chance did she have in the big wide world? She had no money except what he gave her, and that was pitifully little. ‘I’ll ask Pauline to help me,’ she told herself. ‘She’ll get me my confidence back again. I’ll talk to her – yes, that’s it. She’ll help me, I know she will. When I took that factory work last time, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t strong enough, but I’m stronger now. I can do it, I’m sure I can.’

Her sense of excitement wavered when she remembered. ‘Phil would never let me do it.’ She recalled the rows and upsets she had endured each time she mentioned going out to work. ‘It was because of him that I lost my job in the laundry that time,’ she recalled.

She had been so happy in that little job with the other girls, but then he had humiliated her. ‘He wouldn’t stay away, wouldn’t let me be. So they had to sack me. It wasn’t their fault.’

Time and again she had tried to break free, and each time he had ruined it for her. It was like a game to him – a nasty, spiteful cat and mouse game. At first, she had tried to fight him. In the end though, he always won.

‘I don’t love him. I never have, never will,’ she whispered. ‘So why do I stay with him?’ Once upon a time she had been strong. But he had drained all her strength away, until she just didn’t care any more.

Halfway down the street, Saunders was embroiled in a row with the taxi driver, who was glad to be rid of this particular fare. ‘Pay me what you owe me,’ he warned Saunders, ‘or I’ll go to the police!’

The man had never encountered a more miserable passenger. ‘I should charge you a damned sight more,’ he complained, ‘for all the earache and aggravation I’ve had to put up with, let alone having to stop twice and let you out to be sick.’

Sorting out the money, Saunders threw it at him. ‘It’s me who should be calling the police!’ he grumbled. ‘The fare you charge is out-and-out robbery!’

But before he could start another argument, the taxi driver swung his cab round in the street and raced off. Winding down his window, he yelled down the street, ‘Bloody drunks! Lunatic! Next time I see you looking for a cab, I’ll be off in the other direction.’

‘Good!’ Saunders waved his fist as the taxi sped away. ‘You robbing swine! If I never see you again, it’ll be too soon!’

One minute he was cursing and threatening, and the next he was roaring with laughter; loud, raucous laughter that actually unbalanced him and sent him careering against the front door. ‘Where’s that damned key?’ he slurred.

He fumbled about until he found it, but then he was having difficulty fitting it into the lock. His voice echoed down the street. ‘JUDY! LET ME IN, YOU DOZY BUGGER! JUDY! GET OUT HERE, WILL YOU, WOMAN!’

Judy made no move. Instead she remained seated at the table, cowering, her stomach churning as she waited for the inevitable.

It wasn’t long before the door was flung open and he was inside. The sound of his voice sent cold shivers down her spine. ‘Judy, where are you?’ He began laughing, a soft, evil sound that she knew so well. Sometimes she really thought he was out of his mind. ‘Come here, my pretty.’ He chuckled. ‘Your husband has need of you.’

As he stumbled down the passageway, Judy felt herself shrinking into the chair, and when he burst through the door, she wished she could be anywhere but there.

‘Oh, look! There’s my dear little mouse.’ Putting his fingers across his face he made the image of a mouse twitching its whiskers. ‘Little mouse,’ he sniggered. ‘Frightened, pretty little mouse.’

Judy looked away. ‘I’m not playing your games,’ she told him, pretending to drink her cocoa.

‘Ooo, so little mouse is not playing, eh?’ giggling childishly he swaggered towards her. ‘You’d best be nice to me.’ Drawing out a chair, he sat so close to her, she could hardly bear it.

‘So tell me, little mouse, what are you doing down here? Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Oh, and why was that?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know, but I’m feeling sleepy now, so I’ll get back up—’

‘We’ll go when I’m ready!’ As she stood to leave, he gripped her arm so tightly he made her cry out. ‘I said … sit!’ Putting force on her arm, he made her sit down. ‘Now then, I want to know what you’ve been up to.’

Assuming he’d found out about the man who thought she was a beggar, Judy was frantic. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain. ‘The man made a mistake, that’s all. He thought I was begging, but I was only asking the time.’

‘What!’ He spun her round to face him. ‘Who thought you were begging? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Nothing.’ Realising he didn’t know, Judy tried desperately to cover it up. ‘It was nothing – a mistake, that’s all. I was just there and he made a mistake.’

‘Who?’ Taking hold of her by the shoulders he shook her hard, until she cried out for him to stop. Then, throwing her aside as if she was nothing, he sneered, ‘That says it all, doesn’t it, eh? Phil Saunders’ wife … begging in the street!’

The laughter stopped. ‘Who else saw you, eh? Who else saw you asking for money in the streets? Damn you! I make sure you want for nothing, and that’s how you repay me. Bitch!’

Bringing his fist up, he caught her hard across the face and sent her reeling backwards. ‘I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!’ The trickle of blood from her temple seemed to enrage him. ‘ANSWER ME! WHO ELSE SAW YOU BEGGING?’

‘I was not begging.’ Dazed by the blow, she wiped away the blood with the back of her hand. ‘I was asking the time, and the man just thought I was begging.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would he think you were begging?’

‘I don’t know. Ask Alan,’ she sobbed. ‘He was there. He took me back to Pauline. I would never beg, and why would I need to?’ She had to humour him, or pay the price. ‘Since I lost my job at the factory, you’ve always provided for me.’

Clinging to him, she appealed, ‘Listen to me, Phil. I was not begging. You ask Alan. He’ll tell you.’

He stared at her hard and long, before stretching out his arms and crushing her to him. ‘You’re right.’ He stroked her long fair hair. ‘You’ll never need to beg, while you’ve got me. Nor will you need to work in a place where men gawp at you all the time, itching to get their hands on you. I won’t have it, d’you hear?’

He had the look of madness. ‘I’ll take care of you. Me – Phil Saunders. I took care of you when nobody else would,’ his manner softened, ‘because I love you. I’ve always loved you.’

Holding her away from him, he said, ‘I’ll give you a few more pounds, then you can buy yourself some nice new clothes. The old ones are getting a bit tatty and folks might blame me. I can’t have that now, can I?’

He thrust his hands into his trouser-pocket. ‘Here.’ Shoving a fistful of money into her hand, he ordered, ‘Take it – it’s yours. Tomorrow morning, I want you to go out and get some decent-looking clothes, so nobody can ever say that Phil Saunders’ wife is a beggar!’

She looked at the wad of notes, realising they were the best part of his wages. ‘I can’t take this.’ She stuffed it back into his pocket. ‘We need it for more important things.’

He made no move to return the money to her. Instead, he continued to stare down on her, his eyes narrowed and his face set hard.

‘Honest, Phil, I’ll be fine.’ She saw the signs and began to panic. ‘All right then, I’ll just have a few pounds,’ she gabbled. ‘I’ve seen some really nice things in town. There’s a little skirt and top, and a really pretty jacket … blue with black trim. I could buy all of those things for just a few pounds. We don’t need to use all your hard-earned wages.’

For a long moment, it seemed as though he wasn’t even listening, but then he gave a begrudging half-smile. ‘Whatever my Judy wants is fine by me.’ When he raised his hand, she instinctively flinched. ‘Aw, poor little mouse, look what you made me do.’ With the cuff of his sleeve he dabbed at the line of blood trailing from her temple. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you just get me all riled up.’

Loudly tutting, he uprighted the cocoa cup which had been spilled over. Then, taking her by the hand, he switched out the light, and pushed her up the stairs.

Judy knew full well what was coming, but she said not a word. Instead she allowed herself to be led to the bedroom, where he roughly stripped off her nightgown and threw her bodily onto the bed.

‘Who do you belong to?’ It was a question he often asked of her.

‘You.’

‘Say it properly!’

‘I belong to you.’

‘That’s right. You need to remember that. They all need to remember that.’

Tearing off his clothes, he straddled her, his hands all over her, touching her face, fondling her small, pert breasts, and now he was running his hands over her smooth, bare thighs. ‘You’re very special to me,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘There are men out there who would give their right arm to have you.’

He sniggered. ‘They can’t have you though, can they? Not when you belong to me!’

Judy thought it was a strange kind of love that wanted to hurt and dominate. There was a dark hatred in him that filled her with terror. But still, she said nothing, for if she dared to disagree, she would be made to pay the price. Sometimes, he was incredibly gentle. Sometimes, like now, he was the unforgiving enemy.

Cruel or gentle, he raised no feelings in her, other than fear and repugnance, and a deep-seated urge to tell him the truth: of how she cringed under his touch; of how her dearest wish was to find the courage to put a million miles between them.

At times like this though, when he was in this mood, Judy knew to keep her silence.

‘You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.’ He traced his finger over the hollow of her neck. ‘My dear, sweet little mouse.’ His passion so obviously aroused, he whispered harshly, ‘If any man ever tried to take you from me, I would have to hurt him. Really hurt him! You do understand that, don’t you?’

When again she gave no answer, he grabbed her by the mouth. ‘What was that? I didn’t hear what you said.’

When he gave her room to breathe, she whispered the answer he wanted. ‘Yes, Phil. I do see that, yes.’

Smiling, he bent to kiss her. ‘Good girl. Now then, you haven’t forgotten how to please your man, have you, because that would really upset me.’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

‘Good!’

His taking of her was self-gratifying and incredibly cruel, and when she cried out with pain, it only spurred him on.

Trapped beneath his considerable weight, Judy could almost taste the booze on his breath, and something else, heavy on his skin – a woman’s perfume. She felt defiled. She should confront him, she thought angrily, walk out on him, and not worry over what he might do to her.

Like a predator, he had swooped on her when she was at her lowest; over the years he had moulded her to his will, skilfully quashing all her resistance.

After Harry was gone, the family rejected her, and the nightmare worsened. For a while, she was totally lost, until Phil Saunders took her under his wing.

At first he was kind, sometimes funny and wonderful, always there, waiting, watching, ready to take care of her; a much-needed shoulder to cry on. But then slowly, subtly, almost without her realising it, he became her jailer.

He knew exactly how to torment her mind – about Harry having deserted her, and the callous way in which her family had kicked her onto the streets. He goaded her about the other, faceless men who had used and left her, and other bad things that still haunted her, so much so that she had no self-respect, no sense of identity.

Phil Saunders had drained her of ambition and purpose. He knew her past. He knew her fears, and for his own gratuitous ends, he had played on those fears until now, she truly believed that no one else would want her – that she was less than worthless.

Like a young fool she had gone to him – willingly, blindly. More and more she grew to depend on him.

He had succeeded in that, if nothing else.

There was a time, long ago, when she lived in hope that something, or somebody, would rescue her. But they never did.

And why would they?

## PART TWO

Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956

Man and Boy