Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 1: Midnight, Blood Brothers, Songbird. Josephine Cox
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‘It’s late, Mum. Why are we talking about trees, especially at this hour?’ She was so tired she could hardly think straight.
Eileen was gazing out of the window. ‘I like the trees,’ she murmured, as though talking to herself. ‘We need them, don’t we? We’ll have to get some and put them in the garden. Get Thomas some as well, and then we’ll be all right, won’t we?’
‘Mum, can we talk about all this tomorrow?’
Eileen went on, ‘If we have trees, and they have arms that go out looking for food, they’ll gobble up all the good things, and the bad things too. And then the bad things are gone forever, aren’t they?’
Libby drew the curtains. ‘If you say so, Mum.’ She was used to her mother’s strange ideas when her mind wandered.
‘That would be good, because then all the bad things could never come back. Nothing could hurt us any more, so we wouldn’t be afraid then, would we?’
Libby led her back to bed. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ she said comfortingly. ‘At least not in here’ – she glanced at the window – ‘and not out there either.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive. Now then, it’s obvious you’ve had some kind of bad dream, but you should not be out of bed, especially with the window and the curtains wide open.’
She needed to know her mother was safe. ‘Look, Mum, it might be best if you come and sleep with me tonight.’
Eileen was adamant. ‘Certainly not! I have my own bed. I’m not a baby.’
‘All right, but if you need me, just call and I’ll be here straight away. OK?’ Libby kissed her goodnight for the second time. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves today.’
‘Thomas kissed me.’
Libby smiled at that, ‘He thinks a lot of you.’
‘And I think a lot of him.’
‘Good. Now, please – can we both get some sleep?’
Back in her own bed, Libby lay awake for an age, listening and wondering, and smiling at the thought of Thomas giving her Mum a kiss, ‘Thomas kisses everybody,’ she told George, her teddy bear. ‘I bet he was a real ladies’ man in his time.’
After a few minutes of blessed silence, with no sounds emanating from her mother’s room, she fell into a deep sleep.
Next door though, Eileen could not sleep. She got quietly out of bed again and, tiptoeing over to the window, she opened the curtains and looked out.
It was past midnight, but the scene had not changed. The skies were pitch-black, save for hazy shafts of moonlight. The emptiness beneath was interspersed with all manner of eerie things: crooked tree-branches and other, ominous shapes. Each one different, and so incredibly still.
Eileen’s curious gaze fixed on them one after the other, looking, imagining, until the fear took hold again.
It was the same. Always the same.
Quickly now, she closed the curtains and climbed back into bed. She remembered what Libby had said, that they would talk about it tomorrow, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Not any more. Not ever! Because if she didn’t talk about it, maybe it would all go away, and she wouldn’t be afraid ever again.
She searched her mind for the pictures, but she couldn’t find them. They’d gone away. But they would be back.
They always came back.
SIX WEEKS HAD passed since he and Molly had split up for good. And now, midway through August, Jack was ready to leave Bedfordshire for ever. Tess at Johnson & Everett had found a buyer for his house. Everything had gone smoothly and there was nothing to keep Jack there. It was time to take one last look around.
With bittersweet feelings, he wandered from room to room. It was strange that everything looked the same: the chairs stood where they had always stood, the red patterned rug lay in front of the fireplace, and even the walls were still adorned with framed pictures of vintage cars – though these were about to be taken to storage in Lytham, along with the furniture, until he found a place to buy. For the time being, he was renting a furnished house in Lytham.
He cast his gaze across the sitting-room, content that all of his precious books and photographs were now carefully packed into the large boxes which stood in the centre of the floor. His clothes, his laptop and most of his personal possessions had already been ferried up to Lytham.
He had spent four good years in this house, and there was no denying that he would miss it, just as he would miss his work colleagues in Bletchley. He had no doubt, however, that they would still meet up at various conferences and the like. For now, he had already said his goodbyes to them, and as far as he was concerned, that particular door was shut. It was now time to look forward.
Shrugging off the creeping sense of regret, he went into the hallway and ran up the stairs two at a time. His first stop was the main bedroom – his retreat, overlooking the back garden. He had found much-needed solace here, particularly when his childhood heartache played heavily on his mind.
He had slept here, and when times were good with Molly, they had made love in this very room.
Thinking back on it now, he knew he must shoulder some of the blame for the way things had turned out. He had given in to her until she became selfish and demanding – and he hoped she would not take advantage of Mal, as he was a good and generous man who doted on her. For that very reason, Mal might have to pay a hard price.
Jack had loved Molly, but he was not sorry to have left her behind. They each had a new life, a new beginning. And yet his was not really a beginning; it was more like a going back. After all these years, he was headed home, back to his roots.
Without him consciously trying to recall her, Libby came into his mind. Her name sat well on his lips: ‘My dear friend, Libby.’ He could see her now in his mind’s eye – her small, pretty face and those lovely, honest eyes. And the way her nose wrinkled when she giggled, as she so often did. The thought of Libby was like a ray of sunshine to brighten this lonely day.
Libby had been someone he could talk to. She was thoughtful and generous. A loyal and caring friend, come rain or shine. Even now, with other matters on his mind, Libby was paramount in his thoughts. ‘I expect, after all this time, she’s forgotten all about me,’ he murmured. ‘I expect Libby’s married now with a husband and children.’ He found himself envying that man, whoever he might be.
Molly too had once been caring and loving. Recently though, he had seen a different side to her. When he had stopped dancing to her tune, she had revealed her true nature, and it was not pleasant.
Molly had proven to be a fair-weather friend. Like a child, she stamped her foot if she didn’t get her own way, and that did not bode well for a life together; especially when she knew, more than anyone, how badly the nightmares affected him. Thankfully, for some reason he had not suffered a really bad one of late. Perhaps because there was too much to think about, too much to plan for.
When the loud rat-a-tat came at the front door, it startled him. ‘Hold on!’ Springing up, he ran down the stairs at the double. ‘I’m on my way!’
Flinging open the door, Jack was pleased to see the small removal van at the kerbside. ‘Are you Mr Redmond?’ The man who spoke was of burly build, with a tuft of grey hair sticking out each side of his cap.
‘I am, yes,’ Jack confirmed. He led the man and his skinny mate along the passageway to the front room. ‘A lot of the big stuff has been sold off or given away,’ he explained. ‘I thought I’d make a clean sweep. Everything is packed, apart from half a dozen small boxes.
Taking down the paintngs, the burly fellow carefully began bundling them up in bubble-wrap.