Josephine Cox Mother’s Day 3-Book Collection: Live the Dream, Lovers and Liars, The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
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brother?’ Kathy’s voice broke with emotion. ‘And I never knew! Why didn’t he tell me? I belonged here, with them. I could have shared their happiness. Why did he shut me out like that?’
The old man didn’t say anything. He knew none of this could have been easy for her, and had worried about giving her the last piece of news. It was too much to cope with. So he gently closed his arms round her shoulders and, drawing her to him, let her cry it out.
With her head against his chest, Kathy sobbed helplessly for a time, trying to come to terms with it all, and filled with all manner of emotions: regret at never knowing she had a brother; anger because her father had not told her; and through it all a great, abiding love that she could never again share with him.
After a time, when she was quiet inside herself, she looked up at the old man with scarred eyes. ‘He should have trusted me,’ she remarked softly.
‘No, lass. He couldn’t do that.’
‘But why not?’ She drew away, her gaze curious on him. ‘I don’t understand.’ She had tried so hard to forgive him, but even now, deep down somewhere inside, she was resentful of the fact that he couldn’t trust her enough to confide in her.
‘Happen ’e were afraid, lass.’ He paused, wondering how he might explain in words she could appreciate. ‘Happen ’e couldn’t be certain how you’d handle it … yer might have been angry with him for deceiving your mother. Yer might have thought bad of him and turned away. Then again, in some misguided way, ’e might have been trying to protect you.’
He sighed from his boots. ‘Oh, lass! There could be all manner o’ reasons why he didn’t tell yer. I can’t say. But I can say one thing …’ He held her at arm’s length, his voice gentle, his bright old eyes smiling. ‘Yer father loved you all the more for not being able to share his secret with yer.’
Wiping her eyes on the cuff of her sleeve, Kathy gave a small laugh. ‘That’s a strange thing to say.’
He winked. ‘I’m a strange man, or so they tell me.’
Impetuously kissing him on the cheek, Kathy thanked him. What he said just now had helped her, more than he had realised. ‘Tell me about his son … my brother.’
With a rush of pleasure, the old man brought the boy’s image to mind. ‘He’s a grand lad. He loves to be on the boat. Swims like a fish, and built strong-like. Curious nature … allus wanting to know … “what’s this do?” an’ “what’s that for?”’ He chuckled. ‘Drives a fella crazy, he does, with his never-ending questions.’
Reaching out, he took up a length of her hair. ‘He’s got brown hair like you … a bit lighter, mebbe, being in the sun whenever he could. Dark eyes like his daddy, and the gentle ways of his mother.’
Kathy had a picture in her mind now. ‘I hope I’ll get to meet him.’ The picture was still not complete. ‘What was she like … Liz?’
The old man thought a while before giving a brief description. ‘Long fair hair tied back; slender figure; pretty grey eyes – an’, oh yes, she couldn’t go out in the sun without getting smothered in freckles.’
Following his description, Kathy could see her clearly in her mind’s eye. ‘She sounds lovely.’
‘She’s a darling woman,’ the old man concluded. ‘Any man would be proud to walk down the street with her.’
Kathy wondered about this good woman, and the boy who was her brother. ‘I hope she comes back,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope I get to meet them.’
The old man didn’t answer. He knew from experience that hoping and wishing didn’t mean it would happen.
Standing up, he stretched his aching back. ‘By! I’ve sat that long I’m all bent and twisted,’ he groaned.
Kathy looked at his thick strong figure and the short sturdy legs. ‘No, you’re not,’ she told him with a mischievous grin. ‘But I expect you’ve got piles now, from sitting on a cold step … that’s what you told me, isn’t it?’
He laughed out loud. ‘By! Yer a cheeky little madam!’ He pointed to the front door. ‘Come on, lass … see what needs doing inside.’
‘Jasper … I wonder …?’ She was loath to say it.
Now, as Kathy looked up with troubled eyes, the old man knew what was on her mind. ‘Yer want to go in yersel’,’ he remarked. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, lass?’
She nodded.
He stretched again, and tweaked his flat cap, and told her softly, ‘I’ll leave yer to it, then. But I’ll not be far away …’ He pointed to the harbour where some of the fishing boats were returning. ‘There’s fish to be sorted for market.’ He chuckled. ‘Just follow yer nose.’
For a long time after he’d gone, Kathy remained on the steps, aching to go inside the house, but not yet ready to face what she might find.
Down at the harbour, Tom waited for the boat to return. A few days ago, in a freak wind, he had been leaning over the rails, watching the boats return, when one of the small cruisers broke free. Thrown into the path of the fishing boats, it might have caused havoc if Tom hadn’t managed to catch the mooring line and draw it away.
Appreciating Tom’s help, Jack Plummer, the skipper of the Mary Lou, called him on board and proudly showed him his catch of the day. At Jack’s urging, Tom turned his hand to sorting the fish. Since then, at the same time every day, he would walk to the harbour, where he would board the Mary Lou to lend a hand. Having never set foot on a fishing boat before that particular day, he had come to enjoy the experience.
Today he had waited for Jasper as usual, surprised when he hadn’t turned up, but knowing how the old fellow could get waylaid by any one of the inhabitants of West Bay, who all knew and loved him. They also valued his practical knowledge, and it wasn’t unknown for them to recruit his help, which he gave at the drop of a hat.
Tom was already on board, sorting the fish, when he spied Jasper making his way down. ‘He’s here.’ Pausing in his work, he stretched his limbs and gave a welcoming wave.
In a good mood after a sizeable catch, Jack yelled for the old man to get a move on. ‘I told you he wouldn’t miss out on his daily treat!’ he told Tom with a hearty chuckle.
Jasper was soon on board, helping the other three men to sort the fish into crates; every now and then, up would go the cry from Jasper, ‘By! You must ’ave emptied the oceans with this catch!’
‘Never mind changing the subject!’ the skipper joked. ‘If you’re late again, I’ll have to give you your cards!’
Tom got in on the act. ‘If he goes, then so do I!’
‘Oh, all right then,’ the skipper said with a wink at Jasper. ‘If you put it that way, I’ve nothing else to say on the matter.’
They had a laugh and got on with their work. It was always like that – well-meaning banter and good-natured taunts. It was their way.
When the decks were cleared and the fish piled high into the crates, each man took a swig from the bottle of whisky strapped under Jack’s seat. They laughed and chatted and talked of the day’s adventure, and afterwards they loaded the crates onto the skipper’s old red truck, ready for market. ‘When are you coming out fishing with us?’ Jack asked Tom.
Tom was evasive. ‘We’ll see,’ he answered, and Jack knew he wasn’t yet ready. Like everyone in West Bay, he knew Tom valued his privacy. Helping sort the fish was one thing, but being closeted with others in a small boat in the middle of the ocean was quite another.
From her front door, Kathy watched the old man walk to the harbour, where the skipper and another man greeted him. She heard the bursts of laughter and saw the old man wagging a finger at the skipper, then further