Josephine Cox Mother’s Day 3-Book Collection: Live the Dream, Lovers and Liars, The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
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yer during the day … with yer eyes all swollen from lack o’ sleep.’
He looked Tom in the eye. ‘So, is it over? Is that why yer all of a sudden coming outta yer shell and tekking up the skipper’s offer to go fishing?’
For what seemed an age Tom didn’t answer. Instead he walked slowly to the window, where he stared into the night. In his mind’s eye he could see the carnage on that day when he lost them all. ‘No!’ His voice was like a whiplash in the quietness of the room. ‘It’s not over! Not yet.’ But soon, he thought … very soon!
Sensing the rage inside him, the old man sidled up to Tom. Laying a tender hand on his arm, he warned, ‘Easy, son. I know what it’s like to be haunted by things yer can’t control.’ He had an idea what Tom was going through, though not the reason for it. ‘Whatever it is yer need to do in order to regain peace of mind, I want you to remember one thing.’
Turning to look down on him, Tom asked the question without uttering one word. ‘Tek yer time, son,’ the old man advised. ‘Don’t let rage and bitterness cloud yer judgement. Sometimes a man can’t see the wood for the trees. Be sure to remember that.’
Tom nodded appreciatively. He knew this man was his friend, and he was grateful for that. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about what happened. He squared his shoulders and, smiling, stood back. ‘How about if you put the cards away, while I get my jacket? I’ll see you home.’
Glancing out of the window, he was intrigued to see that all the houses were in darkness but for one. ‘We seem to be the last ones awake right now,’ he commented, ‘except for that old house down by the green.’ From where he stood, the light flickering in the front room was clearly visible.
Concerned, Jasper looked out of the window. ‘By! The lass is up late, and no mistake. I hope she’s all right.’
Tom was surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’
‘Because there’s no electricity nor water, and yer know how long it teks ’em to turn it all back on. Quick enough to tek yer money though, the buggers!’
‘Her name’s Kathy.’ Unaware that Tom had seen Kathy as she sat on the wall eating her chips that night, the old man chatted on. ‘Her father left her the house, so she’s decided to come and live here.’ Jasper thought that was about as much as he had a right to tell anyone, even Tom, except, ‘Soonever she’s got the house up to scratch, she’ll be looking for work. Now then … are yer walking back with me, or what?’
Kathy had just closed the curtains and made her way up to bed, taking the lamp with her, when she heard a tap on the door. A little nervous, she looked out of the window. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s only me, lass.’ The old man looked up. ‘I saw the light and wondered if yer were all right?’
Relieved, Kathy told him to wait and she would come down.
A moment later she was at the door. ‘I’m fine,’ she told him, ‘but the sooner I get the electricity switched back on, the better.’
The old man was still anxious. ‘Yer should have booked into the guest-house, like I said,’ he replied. ‘Yer should not be sleeping in that damp bed … and the sheets must need a good boil, if they are still in one piece, that is.’
Kathy laughed. ‘You’re a real worrier! Look, I washed the sheets by hand and dried them on a line outside. I went across to the shop with two hot-water bottles I found, and the lady very kindly filled them with hot water, so I could air the mattress. I’ve had Ovaltine and toast for my supper, and a crisp, rosy apple to finish.’ She was grateful, though, for his concern. ‘I’m all right, Jasper, really I am.’ In fact, she was already feeling very attached to the house.
The old man was content. ‘It seems yer can look after yersel’,’ he remarked, ‘… an’ I’m just wastin’ me time.’ He had reservations, though. ‘I’m still not sure about the bed. Are yer sure it’s fit to sleep on, lass?’
‘Absolutely! Like I said … the sheets are washed, the mattress aired, and I’m not about to die of pneumonia, so will you stop worrying?’ She gave him a smile. ‘Still, it is nice to have somebody worrying about me.’
‘Right then, lass. I’d best leave yer to get some sleep,’ he said. ‘Seems to me you’ve had a busy old day.’
Satisfied that she was coming to no harm, he went back down the path. ‘By! She’s not only bonny,’ he told Tom, who had waited by the gate, ‘she’s capable, too.’
As the two of them walked away, Kathy caught sight of Tom. ‘Goodnight!’ she called. Tom returned the greeting with a wave and a smile that Kathy found appealing.
Tom was curious. ‘Does she really mean to stay in that house all on her own?’
‘As far as I know, yes. But, like I said, she seems capable enough.’
Five minutes later, having walked the old man home and chatted about this and that, Tom returned by way of Barden House. He hadn’t taken too much notice of it before, but even in the lamplight he could see how anyone might fall in love with the place.
At the corner he paused, his glance travelling upwards to the window where she was when Jasper first spoke to her. ‘Brave girl,’ he murmured. ‘She’s got her work cut out keeping that place up to scratch.’ He smiled to himself. ‘She seems an independent sort; I don’t suppose she’d welcome the offer of help.’
His heart leapt when suddenly the curtain was drawn back and the window flung open and there was Kathy looking down on him. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. Instead they looked at each other for a long, mesmerising moment, before he hurried away, embarrassed at having been caught loitering outside her house.
Kathy watched him stride away. ‘I don’t know who was more embarrassed … me or him.’ She thought she might relate the incident in her next letter to Maggie. But, on second thoughts, it seemed such a private moment she decided not to.
They were both so deeply disturbed by the encounter that it was a long time before either of them could sleep.
Kathy lay snuggled up in her bed, absent-mindedly watching the shifting skies through her window; while Tom paced the floor awhile, before picking up the photograph of his family. He stared at their familiar faces, and as always was filled with regret, and a sense of blind rage that even now he had not brought under control.
With Kathy’s face creeping into his mind, he felt the need to explain to his lost wife. ‘She’s like you, sweetheart … strong-minded and independent.’ It tore at his heart to realise he had addressed her as though she was present.
Replacing the photograph, he strolled to the window, his gaze drawn back to Barden House. He stayed there for an age, looking and thinking … with Kathy’s face strong in his mind.
Soon, those other, horrifying images swept away all else. Knowing what he must do before he could ever have a life again, he closed the curtains.
The next morning, back in London, a young woman rushed into a florist’s shop. ‘Mrs Taylor! It’s happened again!’
The manageress dropped the half-finished bouquet onto the counter. ‘What are you talking about?’ Since sending Gloria out on her deliveries, she’d been rushed off her feet, and was not now in the sweetest of moods. ‘Have you delivered all the flowers?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Go on! Spit it out.’ She could see something had upset the girl, and now she was curious. ‘What’s happened?’
Gloria almost ran to the counter where, red-faced and flustered, she told her boss, ‘You know that order, to take flowers to the churchyard every fortnight … that poor family that got killed? Well, it’s happened again … The flowers I put there week before last … those beautiful roses and gypsophila … they were strewn all over the place. Somebody’s filled