Josephine Cox Mother’s Day 3-Book Collection: Live the Dream, Lovers and Liars, The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
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real world it would be harder. I tell people I’m separated. But now I suppose I should say I’m widowed.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
Jasper awkwardly rose to his feet and patted her shoulder. ‘There, there.’
‘I suppose a part of me always knew, deep down, that Robert was married. All he ever said to me was that he wished he could marry me. But I didn’t care. And neither did anyone else at the time. As long as it isn’t hard for Robbie.’
‘You just tell them whatever you like, lass, whatever makes life better for the pair of yer.’
Liz straightened her shoulders. ‘Will you be there when I tell him … please?’
‘Whatever yer want, lass.’
‘Then let’s get it over with.’
Liz led the way into the garden. While the old man made for the seat, Liz called her son across. ‘Robbie … sweetheart! Can you come here a minute? I’ve got something to tell you.’
Bounding across the garden, Robbie arrived breathless before them. ‘What?’
Patting the seat beside her, she slid an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s about your daddy.’
‘Oh!’ He began leaping about. ‘He’s coming home! Is he, Mummy?’
When it seemed Liz might lose her composure, the old man’s sober voice cut through the boy’s excitement. ‘Sit down, son. Let your mammy finish.’
Astonished, Robbie looked from one to the other, realisation dawning. ‘No!’ Backing up, he stared at his mother. ‘He’s not coming back, is he? That’s what you want to tell me, isn’t it?’ His voice rose to a crescendo. ‘DADDY DOESN’T WANT US! AND NOW HE’S NEVER COMING BACK!’ Taking to his heels, he ran for the tree-house. ‘I hate him. I HATE HIM!’
Going after him at a run, Liz called up to where he’d hidden himself in the furthest corner of the tree-house. ‘Please, Robbie, come down. It isn’t like that.’
‘Tell me the truth. Is he coming back?’
‘No, sweetheart. I’m sorry …’
‘GO AWAY!’ In a sudden rage he ran across the floor. Flinging the hatch cover over the opening, he threw himself on top of it; the sounds of his crying tore at both their hearts.
‘Come away, lass.’ When Liz too began softly crying, the old man tenderly moved her aside. ‘Let me talk to him, eh?’
Unable to speak, Liz nodded.
‘Robbie, lad.’ Going steadily up the ladder that rested precariously against the tree-trunk, Jasper made his way up. ‘Oh, be careful!’ Liz was fearful that the ladder might fall and he would be injured.
‘Don’t you worry, lass,’ he called back. ‘I’ve climbed too many masts in my time to be worried about a rickety old ladder.’ All the same, when he heard the trap-door shift back an inch or so, he smiled to himself. It told him the boy was concerned about his safety, too.
Almost to the top, he decided to try the old trick of distracting the boy’s attention. But first he winked at Liz, so she would know he was up to some trick or other. ‘Oh!’ In a loud voice he called out, as if to Liz, ‘I nearly went there, lass. By! If I fall off this ladder, I’m likely to break me back!’
‘You get off my ladder!’ Robbie’s voice sailed down to him. ‘I don’t want you up here. GET DOWN!’
The old man secretly chuckled. ‘You invited me to your play-house, and now I’m tekkin’ you up on it.’
There followed a banter between the two of them, with the boy urging him to get off his ladder, and the old man insisting that he had every right to be there, and, ‘What’s more I’m coming inside, so you’d best open that trap-door, else I probably will fall and break me neck!’ And for effect he yelled out, ‘Oh, my God! I nearly went then. Watch out, lass … stay back in case I tumble.’
Suddenly the trap-door opened and there was Robbie peering out, his face stained with tears and his eyes red-raw. ‘You can’t get inside here,’ he warned. ‘You’re too fat.’
‘FAT!’ Feigning indignation, the old man edged his way up towards the opening. ‘Move aside, lad. I’ll show yer whether I’m “fat” or not, yer cheeky young rascal!’
Much to his own surprise, and not without trepidation, the old man managed to squeeze his bulk in through the opening. ‘There y’are!’ Reaching his gaze into the furthest corner where the boy was sitting, he softly chuckled. ‘You’d best not call me “fat” again, ’cause I got through the door, and now I’m coming over there.’
Seeming little more than a shadow, the boy began to cry. ‘Leave me alone, Jasper.’
‘I can’t do that, son.’ Carefully, on all fours, he made his way across the floor. ‘I can’t have you crying and not do owt about it.’
When he reached the boy he took him into his arms. There they sat – the two of them – an odd sight in that tiny, cramped corner. With the boy’s head on his shoulder, the old man told him in as kind a way as possible why his father had left them. ‘It weren’t his fault. Y’see, son, he never wanted to leave you, only he got poorly, and went away so you and yer mammy wouldn’t see him hurting. Then, he just never got better.’
With big, wet eyes and the sob still in his voice, the boy looked up. ‘I was poorly once, when I had chickenpox.’
The old man nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘Daddy looked after me too. He told me stories and made me laugh, and he never sent me away, did he?’
‘No, son, he didn’t.’
‘So, why did he go away? Why didn’t he stay and let us look after him, like he looked after me?’
‘Because sometimes it’s hard to know what to do for the best. Y’see, when a man gets ill, he begins to wonder about all manner o’ things. And when it comes down to it, the only thing he’s worried about is his family … them that he loves.’
‘Do you think he loved me and Mummy?’
‘Oh, son!’ He pressed his arm tight about the boy. ‘He loved you more than anything in this whole wide world. He told me that once … he said as how if he hadn’t got you and your mammy, life wouldn’t be worth living. You made him very happy, lad. You and yer mammy were very precious to him. Whatever else yer believe, yer must allus believe that.’
‘When somebody doesn’t get better, they go to heaven, don’t they?’
‘Aye, lad, if they’ve been good, that’s where they go all right.’
‘Daddy was ‘good’, wasn’t he?’
‘I’d say so, yes, lad.’
‘Jasper?’
‘Yes, lad?’
‘What does heaven look like?’
The old man couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘I can’t say as I’ve ever been there, and I reckon I’m not ready to go yet, but, well, I’d say as it looks summat like this pretty garden … with flowers and birds, and all kinda lovely smells an’ colours.’
The boy was quiet for a time; the sobs subsided and he drew away. ‘I want my mummy now.’
Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes. ‘’Course yer do, lad.’
Sighing to his boots, he shifted round to let the boy go first. ‘Can’t say as I’ll be sorry to get down,’ he confessed. ‘You were right, lad, I am too fat to be up here!’ In truth the bones of his backside were aching and his back felt like it had been twisted off its axle. ‘Go on, lad, I’m right behind yer.’
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