Kitabı oxu: «The Loner»

JOSEPHINE COX

The Loner

COPYRIGHT

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

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2007

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

Typeset in New Baskerville by

Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without

the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

FSC is a non-profit international organisation established to promote the

responsible management of the world’s forests. Products carrying the FSC

label are independently certified to assure consumers that they come

from forests that are managed to meet the social, economic and

ecological needs of present and future generations.

Source ISBN-13: 9780007221134

EBook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN 9780007279548

Version: 2017-08-10

DEDICATION

This book is for my Ken, as always

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

CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART TWO

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PART THREE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PART FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHATTERBOX

ENJOYED THIS BOOK?

EXTRACT

THE LONER

ALSO BY JOSEPHINE COX

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

PART ONE

Blackburn, 1955

The Road to Ruin

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely her Donny wouldn’t argue with that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘’Cause I’m buggered if I would!’

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I want you out of this house.’

Joseph had come into the room and had witnessed everything.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Back to the streets where she belongs.’

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

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

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

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

‘I have to look after her.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t want to leave like this.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But turn them away he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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