Книга - Born Bad

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 (#ulink_40c46b80-fd9b-5973-a34c-78c6a94350b7)


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 (http://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: 2016–10–05




Praise for Josephine Cox (#ulink_e2498536-5de0-5cf5-9afd-d44f006335ea)


‘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 (#ulink_29a822a4-5c9b-554a-82a9-76a0d9ba447f)


This book is for my Ken, as always




Epigraph (#ulink_0f1d48c9-0031-5c11-a24f-494ab8d37e16)


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 (#u65300897-bb9b-597b-b0ea-19d65d15b2f3)

Title Page (#u985d369c-d8fe-57c9-923a-40463eddb538)

Copyright (#ucf4b7cd8-0bbc-51f2-a7fa-a5b943fd1f3e)

Praise for Josephine Cox (#u2bdd8d50-1504-574c-94ff-b25075e4309d)

Dedication (#u59682877-2094-5560-accc-e2add738d9af)

Epigraph (#udf20b754-ccf5-5c64-a8ed-4283bbcd7553)

PART ONE Weymouth, July 1956 Love Hurts (#u0e38fc90-d5b9-5fb1-8db6-9b2903959bb8)

Chapter One (#u20f11b96-95a0-5916-a737-1d864d18e32b)

Chapter Two (#u99bddc04-6b91-5c8b-bced-87ac243169dd)

Chapter Three (#uecd757cb-28b7-5e8a-8c4a-8b06dbb714ed)

Chapter Four (#u3639760a-ef57-529e-bbea-f72fe674eb68)

Chapter Five (#u04ea9481-80b4-50c0-83a0-628d75dc7b6e)

PART TWO Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956 Man and Boy (#u2a4fd374-5681-5a6e-aa1b-167d8277f726)

Chapter Six (#u757f307d-fec0-54d6-8172-4262811dbb4b)

Chapter Seven (#uebe46bfa-585e-597f-86eb-81e37304bb92)

Chapter Eight (#u76c02e79-f212-577f-9b0f-2b6faaaf23cf)

Chapter Nine (#u3f5b568c-a88e-58b5-9891-0cc741abb186)

Chapter Ten (#u620f3b85-c49e-5eec-ae12-485e26ed97e5)

PART THREE Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956 Strangers (#ua58d7ef2-fbbe-5c6b-93d3-4dc351e6d52b)

Chapter Eleven (#ucefc8c71-1681-503c-beab-3f695368d2e0)

Chapter Twelve (#uf0b12435-e603-539b-8b87-78b54b92fe60)

Chapter Thirteen (#u7df3dcc1-6cb8-5531-b7a1-da8549490f4f)

Chapter Fourteen (#u9d662813-5e1c-5cda-b0be-74c37c7553c7)

Chapter Fifteen (#u5f88cffe-9ae7-52a5-a620-c27e0f9c11a7)

Chapter Sixteen (#uf266cb29-d02a-58d0-9245-b3aae0388ee1)

PART FOUR Fisher’s Hill, Autumn 1956 Dangerous Love (#u84139dcf-a605-530c-a8c2-90340c1fb32f)

Chapter Seventeen (#ufca56297-d0f6-5643-8bf8-c9522436f8e6)

Chapter Eighteen (#u784428e7-b376-53a4-a653-f3bcb478a05f)

Chapter Nineteen (#uae691bcb-25bc-5983-ade9-9950c9da118c)

Chapter Twenty (#u5a49eea3-3a26-5d66-acd3-75b2b5bd0fb5)

PART FIVE Bedfordshire, Late Autumn 1956 The Price of Sin (#u7d72aa30-93fc-5c88-be4f-7f85f65caa34)

Chapter Twenty-One (#u42152949-2ce9-5179-a891-986133ea9dc7)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#u6be09c1c-dc33-5573-9079-86ff142a2424)

Epilogue (#u0e381442-f69e-5b72-8f25-27de62fbe1bb)

Keep Reading (#u82bdb98d-1d9a-5ed1-9e92-5b948fa4e0a5)

About the Author (#uae605d66-97fa-5e79-8192-1824d637c06a)

Also by the Author (#u84eece25-717a-5d7c-8141-d4736f717e21)

About the Publisher (#ucd6018be-e8a9-5010-8d32-2ba60667c2c0)




PART ONE (#ulink_5a7318fd-c6ec-5347-b507-a33221792f6f)


Weymouth, July 1956 (#ulink_5a7318fd-c6ec-5347-b507-a33221792f6f)

Love Hurts (#ulink_5a7318fd-c6ec-5347-b507-a33221792f6f)




Chapter One (#ulink_004c6938-732f-52a1-a29f-8264c8076968)


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 horizen.

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 preempted 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.





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