Born Bad. Josephine Cox
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Harry was out with his mates, his parents got into a fight and somehow a fire started – ‘from a lit cigarette on the bedclothes’ the investigators said.
Witnesses claimed that the fire exploded into a raging inferno. The emergency services arrived within minutes, but it was too late. ‘A tragic accident’ was the verdict.
That same night, Kathleen took him in and brought him through the nightmare of losing both his parents.
Through each and every crisis in his colourful, rebellious youth, Kathleen had been his only salvation; a tower of strength.
During the war, and his proud time of serving with the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment, she was like a mother to him, keeping him safe, he felt, with her parcels and prayers. More than one thousand men were killed from the regiment, but Corporal, then Sergeant Harry Blake was not one of them. And now, when he had turned to her yet again, after years of deserting her and all that reminded him of his time at Fisher’s Hill, she had welcomed him with open arms.
Stronger of heart, he drove on. Tom half-opened his eyes. ‘Are we there yet, Daddy?’
‘Not yet, Tom, no. Go back to sleep if you’re tired.’ He saw how the boy was still drowsy. Since Sara was taken, neither he nor Tom had slept through the night.
Minutes later, he pulled off the main road and drove very slowly up the lane leading to Fisher’s Hill.
He had come this far and now, whatever the outcome, there was no way back.
Returning here, to the place of his youth, to his family roots, his first sweetheart and the tragedy of losing his parents, was the worst feeling. Yet coming back had always seemed inevitable, somehow. It was something he had needed to do, unfinished business, and when Sara was lost to him, turning to Kathleen seemed the most natural thing in the world.
As he drew closer, his heart was clenched like a fist, his throat so dry he could hardly swallow. He felt much like a man might feel on his way to the gallows. It was right that he should suffer, he thought cynically. A kind of penance for his sins.
One glance at the sleeping child in the back made him ashamed. It was Tom who mattered; not him.
Determined to concentrate on what lay ahead, he inched the car forward, his anxious gaze drawn towards the houses. As far as he could see, nothing had changed; every little detail was exactly as he remembered it. The brown-bricked houses were still there, strong and sturdy snuggled up side by side, with their little front walls and concrete paths, tidy well-kept gardens and net curtains at the windows; many of them twitching as folks peered through to take a look at the Hillman Minx moving at a snail’s pace up the hill.
His troubled gaze went to the house on the corner. Number 12 – there it was on the door in large brass numbers just as he remembered.
He wondered if he was being watched. Was Judy there, still living at home? Was she hiding behind the curtains, her sorry eyes trained on him in that very moment? Or had she really gone for ever, from the house, this street, and his life?
He had no way of knowing, because in the many recent telephone conversations between them, Kathleen had never once mentioned Judy, and neither had he. It was for the best, he thought.
In spite of himself, and even when he had met and married his lovely Sara, Judy had lingered, in the boy, and in the man; and the questions never went away. After he was gone, did she realise how he had had no choice but to do what he had done … for both their sakes? Or had she despised him to this day, and found contentment with someone more deserving?
‘Let it go, Harry,’ he told himself firmly. ‘It was a lifetime ago.’
But he couldn’t let it go. Against his better instincts, his quiet gaze lingered on the house. In his mind’s eye he could see himself and Judy, laughing at silly, childish things; dancing to music on the wireless or just curled up on the sofa. He pictured them both running down the path, hand-in-hand, incredibly young and blissfully happy. Then he remembered the bombshell that ruined it all. If only he’d known! But he had never even suspected. So why then, should he feel so guilty?
He closed his eyes, the memories too painful. ‘I did love you, Judy,’ he told that young girl. ‘Don’t ever doubt that.’
Braking, and putting the car into neutral, he turned to look at the sleeping child. ‘Your mammy knew what I had done,’ he whispered. ‘I told her everything, yet she took me into her life without question, accepting me as I was. She gave me a new start … taught me how to love again.’
The tears burned his eyes. ‘I’m sorry you lost her, Tom,’ he murmured. ‘So sorry.’ Leaning over, he stroked the child’s soft hair. ‘Your darling mammy was a wonderful woman and I loved her with every fibre of my being. You’ll always miss her, and so will I, but I promise you … whatever life throws at us, we’ll face it full on. You need have no worries, because I’ll always be here for you.’
He raised his eyes to the shifting skies. ‘Oh, Sara! I know you believed I should come back here, but now that I’m only a short distance away from where it all happened, I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Did you think that I might find the forgiveness I crave? Or was your intention that I should settle the past once and for all, whatever the consequences?’
He closed his eyes, but the chaos in his mind was rampant, until he turned yet again to gaze on his son. Sara had entrusted him to take care of the boy and, for now, that was all that mattered.
For a moment he dwelled on all that was good in his life, and he felt at peace. ‘I’ll take good care of him, Sara, my love,’ he vowed. ‘With all that’s in me, I give you my word.’
Composing himself, he put the car into gear and drove on up towards Kathleen’s house. As he drew closer, the street enveloped him. It was as if he had never been away.
Kathleen O’Leary had been keeping vigil at the window. When she saw the car approach, she pressed close to the pane, her anxious gaze searching for the young man she had known all those years ago. When she recognised him, her heart leaped.
Flinging open her front door, she ran down the path to greet him; a small round woman with a mop of wild auburn hair and a crinkly, homely face that made you smile. ‘Harry, me darlin’! I’ve been watching out for youse both …’ Her Irish lilt was music to his ears. ‘Sure I was worried you might change your mind, but now look, here you are at long last!’ He had not changed, she thought. He was taller, wider of shoulder, and life had etched itself in his face, but it was him – Harry Boy – the lad she had cared for all those years ago. Her surrogate son.
She grabbed Harry as he got out of the car, and for a long time, they clung to each other. He had not realised just how desperately he needed to see that familiar, welcoming face and to feel those chubby comforting arms about him. The bright eyes were the same, and the wide, ready smile, filled with such kindliness.
‘Aw, Harry Boy … will ye look at yourself? Isn’t it the strong fine man you are!’ She held him at arm’s length, her quick brown eyes travelling the length and breadth of Harry’s physique. ‘Ah sure, you’ve not changed a bit. You’re the same handsome, capable fella with the same dark eyes and wild mop of chestnut-coloured hair.’ A tear brightened her eyes. ‘You’ve a sadness about ye though,’ she murmured. ‘I can see I’ll have to bring back that winning smile, so I will.’
‘Oh, Kathleen.’ Harry was deeply touched by her concern. ‘You can’t know how wonderful it is to see you again.’ Moved by a well of emotion, he clutched hold of her shoulders. ‘We’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘Give over with you! Sure, I’m only glad you’ve arrived safely, so I am.’ She covered him in a beaming smile. ‘And I am so longing to see the darlin’ child.’
Peering into the back of the car, she gleefully clapped her hands together. ‘Oh now, will ye look at the little fella. Sure, it doesn’t seem a minute since yerself was just a lad.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure I don’t know where