Born Bad. Josephine Cox
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took him into those fat little arms, her face wet with tears. ‘Oh, but I’m glad you’re back, Harry,’ she told him fondly. ‘An’ now you’ve brought a little angel with you … Tom, a grand name, and a grand little face.’ She kissed the sleepy upturned face, and thought how lost the little boy must be without his beloved mammy.
Thinking of Harry’s young wife, taken all too soon, she caught his quiet gaze. ‘I’m sorry, me darlin’, about what happened. It’s been hard going for you and the wee bairn, I know that.’
Harry nodded, tears in his own eyes. ‘I feel lost, Kathleen,’ he admitted brokenly. ‘Me and the boy both.’
Smiling through the emotional moment, she grabbed them both into her embrace. ‘Ah sure, ye have me, so y’do,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll look after youse, don’t you worry about that.’
‘You’re a woman in a million,’ Harry told her. ‘I don’t know what Tom and I would have done without you. And all those years back, whenever my life took a bad turn, you were always there, ready to put me back together again.’
He had been away for so long, and yet he remembered it all, as if it was only yesterday.
Since the day he left Fisher’s Hill, he had regretted the hurt he caused; though given the same circumstances, he believed he would have to do the very same again.
Standing here outside Kathleen’s house and looking down that familiar street, he felt oddly out of place. It was as though he was looking through a darkened window into the past. It was the strangest feeling, with his emotions torn in every direction.
Sensing his turmoil, Kathleen assured him, ‘I kept my word, Harry. I never told anyone that you were on your way back.’
Harry nodded. ‘And Judy? How did she get through it? What happened to her, Kathleen? I need to know.’
The small woman slowly shook her head. ‘Judy is long gone from the street.’ Glancing at the child, she suggested quietly, ‘Best if we talk about it later, eh?’
He understood. ‘You’re right,’ he answered. ‘This isn’t the time.’ He had not expected to be disappointed at the news of Judy’s leaving, but he was.
Kathleen saw his reaction. ‘You’ve had a bad time of it, you and the bairn,’ she murmured. ‘I know how hard it must have been for you to come back here.’ Her quick, warm smile was like a ray of sunshine. ‘But if it’s peace of mind ye’re after, sure you’ve come to the right place.’
Harry nodded in agreement. It had taken all his willpower to come home, but he was here now, and more importantly, it was what his darling Sara had wanted.
Not for the first time, he counted his blessings. He had rekindled his friendship with dear Kathleen, he had his precious son, and the unforgettable memories of Sara, and he was immensely grateful. Yet, even with all of that, he still felt incredibly alone.
Both his parents were long gone; there were no brothers or sisters or any other relatives that he knew of, and his happy-go-lucky schoolmates, with their passion for girls and motorbikes, by now had probably moved away and had wives and families.
Here in this ordinary place, he had lived with the consequences of drunken, violent parents. He had experienced terror of a kind that no child should ever encounter. But he had forged deep friendships, and found his first real love in a girl called Judy. It had been an overwhelmingly beautiful experience, and to his dying day he would never forget how it was. But it was never meant to last, and for that he would be forever sorry.
Then, when he was at his lowest ebb, he had found another love – oh, not like before, because a man’s first love is too deep and fulfilling to ever forget – but little Tom’s mother, Sara, was a wise and beautiful creature with a generous heart. He came to love her deeply, but it could never be the same, all-consuming love he had felt for Judy, the young, sweet girl who had wakened his manhood and opened his heart like summer after winter.
Sara though, had been his salvation. She was forgiving and thoughtful, and he regarded himself as a very fortunate man to have had such joy and beauty in his life.
Over and over, he recalled the night when he had confided in Sara, revealing how it had been between himself and Judy, and of the awful manner in which their relationship had ended.
Sara did not blame or scold, nor did she judge. Instead, she listened to him, but it was never forgotten; not by him, and he knew not by her. Yet she stood by him, like the gentle person she was.
But it was never enough! He needed to confront the demons. He needed forgiveness from the very person he had hurt. But that was not to be, and so he had learned to live with the guilt.
‘Come on now, Harry Boy,’ Kathleen said cheerfully, as she waddled back up to the house. ‘Let’s get your man inside.’
Hoisting his yawning son into his arms, Harry took a moment to follow, his attention still trained on number twelve. So, Judy had gone, and now he might never be able to make amends.
He let the past take him for a while.
Then he turned and hurried after Kathleen.
THE MINUTE HE walked into Kathleen’s cosy little parlour, Harry felt at home. He stood, the child once more deeply asleep in his father’s arms, and took a long look about him.
On the whole, it had not changed from the place he had fondly remembered all those years. The wood-panelled door was still the same, with its brass knocker and big iron handle, and the prettiest stained-glass window right at the top.
Once inside the tiny parlour his senses warmed to the familiar scent of snuff. He recalled how Kathleen had a weakness for it. When she thought no one was looking, she would take the smallest pinch of brown powder from the little silver box, pop it on the back of her hand, then she’d sniff it up her nose until her eyes watered and the ensuing sneeze took her breath away. Harry had always thought it comical, how after a pinch or two, the snuff formed an odd kind of moustache round her top lip.
It was oddly comforting to think she still enjoyed that secret ‘little pinch o’ snuff’.
The old leather chair that used to sit beside the fireplace was gone, and in its place was a smart brown chair with wide arms and long wooden legs. The old chair had been special to Kathleen’s husband, Michael.
Harry had not forgotten the news which Kathleen imparted when they first spoke on the phone. ‘I’m sorry about Michael,’ he said awkwardly now.
Her smile momentarily disappeared. ‘Me too,’ she murmured. Then, in her usual robust manner, she deliberately changed the subject, took a deep breath and brought Harry’s attention to the new décor. ‘As you can see, I’ve changed a thing or two these past years.’
Looking about, Harry noticed the new lemon-coloured curtains, where before there had been pretty floral curtains of pink and green. The rug before the fireplace had been a crescent-shaped one, a rag rug that Kathleen had made herself. Now though, there was a smart, oval red rug with a border of cream-coloured roses; and the old brown horsehair sofa had been replaced with a dark blue cloth-covered one, with big round wooden feet and wooden arms where you might easily rest your cup of tea.
Kathleen’s idea of comfort was as old-fashioned as the darling woman herself. Her home was a welcoming place where folks could put up their feet and rest awhile, or stay a week, whichever suited.
‘We’ve got gas fires now,’ Kathleen proudly informed him. ‘Oh, and we’ve got rid of the old bed,’ she revealed. ‘Lord knows, I’ve been cracking me head on them iron knobs for long enough. Sure, it’s a wonder me old brains aren’t scrambled.’
She went on with a grin. ‘As you well know, my Michael loved that bed, creaks and all. For years I fought him tooth