Читать книгу Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 1: Midnight, Blood Brothers, Songbird - Josephine Cox - Страница 13
ОглавлениеAFTER WAITING UNTIL the unwelcome visitor was out of sight, Thomas went back to find Libby trying to calm her mother, who had been deeply disturbed by the entire episode. Seated at the table, Eileen was rocking back and forth. ‘It was all my fault,’ she sobbed. ‘I brought him here, but he wasn’t the one.’ She glanced up, her misty eyes looking from one to the other. ‘Y’see, I thought he were my Ian. I’m sorry I caused all this trouble.’
‘It’s all right, Eileen, love.’ Seeing how Libby was too choked to speak, Thomas came forward. ‘He’s gone now, and by the way he shot round that corner, he’ll not bother you again.’
Calmed by his quiet voice and gentle manner, Eileen looked up with tearful eyes. ‘You’re a good man, Thomas.’ Taking his work-worn hand into hers, she gently kissed it. ‘And I’m a silly old woman. They should put me away for what I’ve done to my Libby.’ Eileen had fleeting moments of lucidity, and this was one of them.
Glancing to where her daughter was making a pot of fresh tea and some scrambled eggs, she gave an almighty sigh: ‘My lovely girl!’ When she wiped her eyes, Thomas felt her sorrow. ‘She never married, you know. And it’s all because of me.’
Thomas gently quietened her fears: ‘I’m sure she’ll find the right man one of these days,’ he promised. ‘Besides, she’s only thirty, so there’s time enough yet.’
Eileen was amazed. ‘Oh dear! Is she thirty already?’
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘So, she really is wasting her life, then?’
‘No.’ Thomas had a special fondness for these two women. ‘Libby loves taking care of you. You know yourself, she would have it no other way.’
In her mind, Eileen was beginning to drift again.
‘Thirty isn’t old, but it’s not young either, is it, Thomas?’ When she looked away, he felt her pain. ‘It was me who brought that bad man home. I didn’t mean to. I was looking for my Ian. I need him, and Libby needs a father.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘My little girl is thirty, and all these years she’s been without a daddy.’ Her voice broke. ‘And I’ve been without a husband.’ She added gratefully, ‘Oh, I know you’ve been kind to Libby and me, but you’re not her father, are you, Thomas? And she’s thirty already.’ She looked at him curiously. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’
Thomas smiled. ‘Oh, my! What I wouldn’t give, to be thirty again!’
‘You and me . . .’ Eileen stroked the back of his hand, ‘we’re old, aren’t we, Thomas?’
He laughed out loud. ‘Aw, I don’t know about that.’ While he was well into his late sixties, Eileen was only just sixty. And though at times her mind was broken, she was still an attractive woman, with her high cheekbones and sparkly brown eyes. She had a kind heart and, when her intelligence was not overshadowed, she displayed a bright, appealing sense of humour.
‘D’you really think Libby will find her man? I mean, you’re not just trying to pacify a silly old woman, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re not to worry, sweetheart. Libby will be all right. And you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a lot to contend with.’
She smiled up at him. ‘You know, don’t you?’ she murmured. ‘You understand the way it is.’
‘I do, yes,’ he replied softly. ‘I understand, because I’ve been there.’ He reflected a moment, before going on: ‘Sometimes, when you can’t bear to think about the cruelty of life, you hide inside yourself.’
Eileen was amazed at how Thomas always managed to say the right thing. ‘Is that what I do – hide inside myself ?’ She felt somehow pacified. ‘I never knew that.’
Shifting positions, he sat down beside her. Sliding his arm round her shoulders, he drew her close to him. ‘You’re not the only one, Eileen, love,’ he confided. ‘At some time or another, we all have a need to hide inside ourselves.’
‘Do we really?’ Something in his manner made her curious.
‘Yes, sweetheart, we do.’
She leaned into his embrace. ‘Thomas?’
‘Yes, m’dear?’
‘Do you hide sometimes?’
He smiled, a slow, rueful smile that carried him back over the years. ‘Oh yes. Like I said, we all do.’
‘Why is that, Thomas?’
He took a moment to search for the right words. ‘Well, sometimes, when life gets too hard for me to handle, it helps me to go to a quiet place, somewhere deep inside, where nobody else can follow.’
For reasons he would rather not say, Thomas knew all about that. ‘It’s my own little haven, y’see?’ He glanced down into her upturned brown eyes, and his heart was pained. ‘Are you feeling better now, m’dear?’
Eileen’s smile was beautiful. ‘Yes, thank you, Thomas. You always help me.’
He smiled back. ‘Well, that’s good. I’m always glad to help, as you know. And don’t ever forget, I’m always here for you and Libby. You know that as well, don’t you?’
‘Mmm.’ Already her mind was shifting.
From across the kitchen, Libby heard their conversation. Deeply touched by his genuine kindness, she listened while buttering toast. These two people were not angels, by any means. They each had tempers when riled and they took no prisoners. Yet they were kind and generous, and beautiful in spirit.
Over the years, since she was a little girl, Libby had looked up to Thomas, who had proved to be a great comfort to her mother. Libby had strong affection for this dear man, and the friendship was between Thomas and her mother was a joy to see.
Their innocent chatter made her yearn to have a man of her own. To be making plans for the future. To be someone’s sweetheart. To walk down the aisle, plan a home, and be a mother. And most of all, to share the burden that life had become. And yet, she had coped, because of her deep, abiding love for her mother. No one had wanted this sorry situation, but they still had each other, and the ever-watchful Thomas.
Like Thomas, she understood about that special hiding-place where no one else could follow. Libby had often visited that special place inside herself, to dream and wish and hope. It was a wonderful, brief respite from the way her life had evolved. Though when she came back to reality, nothing had changed. Nothing ever would. But for that short, precious time, when carried along by her imagination, she was free to dream.
In many ways, Libby considered herself blessed. She had her health and strength and so did her mother, apart from her slowly deteriorating mental state; although thankfully, Libby was able to make her days as normal and enjoyable as possible.
The two of them had a pretty home, paid for by the man who later abandoned them. She and her mother were warm and cosy, and they shared a deep bond of love. One way and another, there was enough coming in to feed and clothe them both, even though they had to watch every penny.
Libby often reminded herself that there were many people worse off than them. She counted her blessings. Life threw challenges at you: some you could deal with and some you couldn’t. Life was no easy ride for anyone, she knew that. She also knew that all you could do was to get through the best way you could.
‘Breakfast is ready, Mum. Thomas, would you like some scrambled eggs? I’ve made plenty.’
As the three sat and enjoyed a hearty meal, Eileen began worrying again. She was sad because her darling girl was nearly thirty years old and still not wed. So there were no children or grandchildren to love. Eileen truly believed it was all her fault, even though both Libby and Thomas tried to convince her otherwise.
‘It’s like Thomas said – I just haven’t met the right man yet,’ Libby assured her cheerfully. ‘One day I’ll be filling the shelves in the supermarket, and just like on the TV ads, some handsome fella will pick up the tin of beans I accidentally dropped, and before you know it, I’ll have met my future husband and father of my ten children.’
‘Hey, you’d best not have ten children,’ Eileen teased. ‘I won’t be able to fit them all on my knee!’ But in her more lucid moments, Eileen knew the truth: her daughter had been robbed of marriage and children, and all because of having to look after her.
‘I had a husband,’ Eileen now announced. ‘When we first married, we were so much in love we never needed anyone else. Then we had Libby, and everything was perfect . . . for a time.’ She discreetly wiped away a tear. ‘After we had the baby, my Ian began to change. He was restless – didn’t seem to want us any more. Sometimes he went with other women. I found out and I faced him time and again. He kept saying he loved me, and I had to believe him. I so wanted to believe him!’
A look of despair was etched on her face. ‘In the end I stopped worrying, because I knew I had to put up with it, or lose him. I pretended it wasn’t happening, and we were much happier. Later though, he left me anyway.’
When her voice broke and she began to stare into her teacup, Libby told her, ‘You don’t need to think about all that, Mum. It’s all water under the bridge, and I don’t like you being upset.’
Eileen gave a sad little nod. ‘I have to say it,’ she told her. ‘He’s been gone so long, and I need him here with me! I need answers. I need to ask him why he did it.’ She grew agitated. ‘It must have been my fault. I must have done something wrong.’
This time it was Thomas who intervened, his voice stern but kindly. ‘It was not your fault, my dear. If you think back, you’ll remember how it really was. Your husband did love you – he would have been crazy not to. But he liked to play the field. We all knew that, and we all wondered how you managed to put up with it for so long. The truth is, for whatever reason, he liked other women. One was never enough. You were never enough. His own little daughter Libby was not even enough to keep him faithful. When he left, it was not your fault, Eileen. It was his. You must never forget that.’ It hurt him to see this darling woman so terribly sad.
‘He’s right, Mum.’ Libby agreed with his every word. ‘It’s common knowledge – Father was a womaniser. You stood by him, and yet he still went away, leaving us both behind, and me only six years old. Like Thomas said, it was nothing you did. Dad liked other women. It was just the way he was, that’s all.’
‘Ah, but you never knew about that woman next door, did you?’ As was her way, Eileen suddenly brought the discussion to a different level. ‘Claire Redmond, her name was.’
Libby was intrigued. ‘Yes, I do remember her,’ she confirmed. Sometimes her mother took her completely by surprise.
Thomas recalled the neighbour in question – a loose woman who liked other men, even before her husband died. ‘What was her son’s name, now . . . ?’ he pondered. ‘Jim? Joe? Oh, goodness! My memory’s getting worse by the minute.’
‘Jack!’ Libby’s voice rang out. She had not forgotten him and never would. ‘His name was Jack, and he was my best friend.’
Thomas scowled. ‘From what I remember, Jack’s mother was a real flighty sort – go with any tom-cat that howled, she would!’ He added softly, ‘Shame about what happened to her husband. Gordon was a nice enough bloke – struck down with a heart-attack two days after that big fire he got caught up in, and him only forty-two. It just goes to show – we never know what’s round the corner, do we, eh?’
There was a moment of quiet, before Eileen spoke again, and what she had to say came as a surprise to both Thomas and Libby. ‘Claire Redmond was a bad woman.’ She wagged a finger at Thomas. ‘She threw herself at my Ian!’
Nervously rolling her teacup in her hands, she leaned forward. ‘You were a bairn at the time,’ she told Libby, ‘and I took you with me to babysit for little Jack. Later, I found I’d left my coat behind, so I put you in your cot and nipped back – and there they were in the hallway. Your father and Jack’s mother – going at it like two ferrets, they were!’
Rendering the other two speechless, she went on. ‘I was so ashamed. My own husband – cavorting with her, and right on our own doorstep!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘So maybe I’m really not to blame after all.’
‘That’s right, Mum. You were not to blame.’ Libby was used to her mother switching from one subject to another, but this time she was shocked. The thought of Jack’s mother and her own father ‘going at it like ferrets’ was not a pleasant one.
‘If I remember rightly,’ she said, ‘Jack’s mum went away and never came back.’
‘That’s right, dear. His poor father passed on. Two years later, young Jack comes home from school to find the house with a “Sold” sign outside. Soon after, his mother packed her bags and took off with her American boyfriend, leaving young Jack to fend for himself.’
Thomas still recalled that day, all those years ago. He also recalled the desolate look on the boy’s face as he walked past his window. ‘What mother would do such a dreadful thing, and just a few days before the boy was about to leave school?’ He tutted loudly. ‘First his father gone, and then his mother. Then he finds himself with no roof over his head. What a dreadful start to his young life! No one cared tuppence about him.’
‘We did – he could have stayed with us until he found somewhere,’ Libby said, rather sadly.
‘Happen he was too proud.’ Thomas too would gladly have given the lad a home.
‘Or maybe he wanted a fresh start,’ Libby mused. ‘Maybe he wanted to put as many miles between himself and Blackburn as he could.’
Thomas agreed. ‘As I recall, he was a sensible, decent sort of lad. More than capable of making his own way in life too, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Eileen smiled. ‘He was such a quiet baby . . . pale-looking and good as gold. And then he turned into a fine, handsome young man.’
Thomas nodded at Eileen’s memories of Jack, but he recalled Jack as being a chubby baby, with a smile to brighten the day and an active curiosity about everyone and everything.
All this talk of Jack made him strong in Libby’s mind. For a long time she had hoped he might come back, but then a new family moved in next door, and she resigned herself to the idea that she would never see him again. To this very day, she missed him. She missed his company and his quiet smile, and the way he always took it on himself to take care of her at school.
Once, after an older girl had bullied and upset her, Jack had shyly kissed her on the mouth, before shooting off quickly, as though having shocked himself. That was the first time he ever kissed her. And the last. Thinking of it now, she involuntarily raised her fingers to her mouth, gently brushing her lips. The memory of Jack’s mouth on hers was surprisingly vivid.
‘Libby!’ Her mother’s raised voice broke the spell. ‘I was talking to you.’
Mortified, Libby was quickly attentive. ‘What is it, Mum?’
‘Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten now, but it doesn’t matter. Must’ve been something and nothing.’
Like Libby, Thomas was miles away, back in the past, thinking of the tragic Redmond family; and particularly of young Jack. ‘What age will he be now?’ he mused. ‘As I recall, he were just a bit older than Libby, so he must be over thirty now.’
‘Oh, dear, is it really that long?’ Eileen was surprised and saddened at the speed with which the years had flown away.
‘I wonder where he went.’ In truth, Libby had never stopped wondering.
Her mother wondered too. ‘I hope he’s all right.’
‘I expect he’s wed,’ Thomas chipped in, ‘wi’ a couple o’ children running round his backside.’
As always, Eileen had a short span of concentration. ‘Libby, now I remember what I wanted to ask you,’ she said.
‘Good. So, what was it, Mum?’
‘Do you ever feel guilty about your father?’
‘Not at all, no.’ She was used to her mother flitting from one subject to another.
‘Don’t you want him back?’
‘Not now. He chose someone else over us and left.’ Libby was more bitter than ever. Convinced that her father’s womanising had damaged her mother’s mind, she had been disgusted to learn that he had even had a fling with Jack’s mother.
‘Don’t you love him?’ Eileen asked.
‘I didn’t even know him, not really.’ Nor did she want to, ‘Don’t forget, I was only a little girl when he left.’
When Eileen again grew silent, Libby wished she hadn’t voiced her true feelings. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to be so hard.’
Eileen understood. ‘You were right,’ she answered. ‘He did hurt us both, very much.’ Her pretty brown eyes misted over. ‘It’s just that, well . . . I really miss him, that’s all.’
‘I realise that,’ Libby said kindly, ‘but it was a long time ago and, like Thomas said, you could never have changed him.’
After her father went away, he was kept alive by the photographs lovingly placed about the house by her mother. And also by the stories her mother would tell over the years, about how it used to be, and how, one day, Ian Harrow was bound to come home. But he never did.
‘It’s best if you don’t think about the bad things any more,’ Libby suggested now.
‘You didn’t know, but last night, when you were fast asleep, I went to find him,’ Eileen confided. ‘I sneaked out and walked the streets – and there he was.’
Sensibly , Libby let her talk. It was the only way.
Eileen mumbled on: ‘I hoped he might be sorry for what he did to us. I wanted it to be like it was before . . . well, you know, don’t you, love?’
‘Yes, Mother, I think I do.’
‘When I found him, he was angry with me. At first he tried to send me away, but I told him if he would come home with me and be like he was before, I would forgive him. I even promised him money. He was bad, though, wasn’t he? He came back, but he only wanted to hurt us again.’ Her voice broke. ‘Oh, Libby, why would your father do such a thing?’
Realising she was drifting away from reality, Thomas felt obliged to help. ‘Listen to me now, m’dear. That man you brought home was not your husband.’
‘Who was he, then?’ Eileen looked at them both, perplexed.
‘You should never have gone out, Mother,’ Libby said firmly. She had believed the precautions she’d taken were enough. Thomas had even fitted a gate at the top of the stairs. And yet again, her mother had outwitted them both.
‘I’m sorry, Libby, I won’t do it again.’
‘Good. I’m glad about that.’
‘The bad man who hurt us just now. Was that your father?’ Her confusion thickened.
Libby suddenly found it hard to hold back the tears.
She was losing her mother again. ‘No, Mum. That man was a stranger. Thomas sent him packing.’
Inside her mind Eileen struggled to put the pieces together. ‘Who was he, then?’ she asked worriedly. ‘Why was he here?’
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, m’dear.’ Gently intervening, Thomas put her mind at rest. ‘He came in off the streets, wanting a handout. He was a rogue, and now he’s gone.’
‘I don’t want him to ever come back!’
‘You don’t need to worry, my darling, because he won’t be back.’
‘Not ever?’
‘No. Not ever.’
‘Do you promise?’
Thomas nodded, his eyes moist with sorrow. ‘I promise. With every bone in my body.’
‘Thank you, Thomas. You’re the best friend to me and Libby,’ Eileen whispered, and in an impromptu move that surprised the other two, she leaned forward and pursed her lips for a kiss.
With aching heart, Thomas took hold of her hands, and drawing her close, he kissed her quickly, with great tenderness. ‘I’m always here for you,’ he promised hoarsely. Then, addressing Libby, he stood up to leave. ‘Thanks for that nice bit o’ breakfast. Went down a treat, it did.’
Libby nodded. ‘Mum’s right,’ she acknowledged. ‘You really are a true friend.’ She had been touched by the way her mother had asked him for a kiss, and he responded, appearing to be deeply moved.
Thomas assured her, ‘What I did was only what any right-minded bloke would do. Now then, ladies, don’t forget: if you need me . . .’
‘We know where you are,’ Libby finished, and showed him to the door, where they bade each other good day.
Thomas walked the few steps along Bower Street to his own little house next door, thinking about the vile creature he had sent packing. ‘He’ll not be back,’ he muttered. But like Libby, he had a feeling it would not be the last time Eileen would go wandering off. ‘We shall have to keep a sharper eye on her in future.’
He gave an involuntary shiver. The sun was bright, but there was no warmth in it. ‘You should’ve put your coat on,’ he chided himself. ‘Catch your death o’ cold if you’re not careful!’
Cheering up, he made his way through the little wooden gate and on down the garden path, pausing to see if the flower-buds were peeping out. ‘Too early yet!’ he chuckled wryly. ‘They’ve got more sense than me. Like as not, they won’t pop their heads up for a while yet.’
Letting himself into the house, he closed the door behind him. It was only a few steps along the passageway to the living-room. Once there, he dropped his weary body into the depth of a big old armchair. When it creaked beneath his weight, he laughed out loud. ‘Sounds like I’m not the only one getting old,’ he remarked to the empty room. ‘Old and worn, me an’ the chair both.’
Rolling up his shirt-sleeves, he noticed a dark, elon-gated bruise on his wrist. ‘I’m too bloody old to be rugby tackling fellas, that’s for sure!’
He gave a deep, rumbling laugh. ‘Saw the bugger off though, didn’t we, eh? Me an’ the lasses – we saw the bugger off good and proper!’ For the first time in a long while, he felt useful. Moreover, he felt proud to have dealt with such an ugly situation.
His mood sobering, Thomas gazed at the fire-grate and the dark coals flickering there. He felt safe in this little house; sheltered from the changing world and the harshness of life. This home was where he had been most happy, with his late wife. It had always been a deep disappointment that he and Rose were never able to have children. If they had, his life and hers would have been all the sweeter. Maybe then, she’d still be with him, grandchildren on her knee.
Growing melancholic, he got up from the chair and ambled over to the sideboard, where he studied the array of photographs displayed there. His eyes settled on one in particular – of a pretty young woman seated on a swing near the rose-beds in Corporation Park.
He recalled the day clearly. It was high summer and they’d been married for two years to the very day. The gentle breeze lifted her long fair hair, just as he was about to take the picture. She laughed, he clicked the button, and she was captured for ever. This photograph had always been his favourite one of her. They were young then, and she was so beautiful.
He had always wondered what she saw in him – an ordinary-looking bloke with few prospects. But oh, how he loved her, and still did . . . to this very day, in spite of everything life had thrown at them.
Collecting the photograph, he carried it to the chair, where he sat down and stared at it for what seemed an age, until the tears ran freely down his weathered old face. ‘I know what Eileen meant when she said she missed her husband,’ he told the image, ‘because I miss you, every minute of every day.’
After a time he went to the back window and looked out. ‘See that!’ He turned the photograph, imagining she might see what he’d done to the garden. ‘I’ve set the flowers either side of the path, the way you like it,’ he said proudly. ‘And look at the potting shed . . . I’ve created a bed of your favourite red geraniums along the front. Should be lovely, come the summer.’ He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back. ‘Give it another month, an’ our little back garden will be ablaze with colour, you wait and see.’
Glancing up at the skies, he chided himself, ‘Hark at me! Telling you what it looks like and how pretty it’ll be. I expect you can see more than I can, from up there with the angels.’
His sorry gaze lingered on the shifting clouds, following their progress across a kindly sky. ‘I do miss you, Rose,’ he murmured. ‘I even miss you nagging at me when I made your tea too strong. I miss our cuddles, and seeing your pretty face in the mornings when I wake, and I miss your chatter and laughter. I know I’ll never hear that again, and it makes me really sad.’
When the tears threatened again, he told himself sharply, ‘You stop that, you silly old devil! She’s gone, and you can’t bring her back. It’s the way it is, and that’s that. Some of us are destined to go, and others are left behind to soldier on, and like it or not, that’s a fact of life.’
He chatted for a while, telling her, ‘Eileen next door snuck out again. She went looking for her two-timing husband. Brought a real bad fella home this time, she did. But thankfully, we managed to get rid of him without too much trouble.’
He lapsed into thought for a time, before softly confiding, ‘I must confess, Rosie, I really do like Eileen. In her clearer moments, we seem to understand each other. We’ve both suffered a loss and we’re both lonely – though of course she’s a bit luckier than me, because she’s got her daughter Libby, while I’ve got no one.’
A gentle sadness marbled his voice. ‘Yes, I know she’s damaged and I know she’s a handful, but it’s nice to be able to take care of someone, and those two lovely people next door are more like family than neighbours. During the day, when Libby goes to work and I nip round to keep Eileen company, I find myself laughing with her over silly little things. We sit and have a cup of tea and I let her chatter on, because she likes to talk, and it does my old heart good.’
He relayed the gist of the recent conversation about Jack Redmond, remembering how Rose used to claim that Jack’s mother was unfit to have children, while mourning the fact that infertile women like herself were denied the opportunity of ever becoming a mother.
‘The truth is, young Jack were thrown to the wolves,’ Thomas declared angrily. ‘If you’d still been here, I know you would have offered him a home, my sweet Rosie, but he were a proud young fella, and I don’t believe he would have accepted any kind of charity. Just now, me and the girls next door, were wondering what might have happened to him, and whether he found a better life after leaving these parts.’
He scratched his head. ‘Listen to me, talking away as if you’re sitting there listening to me! But y’see what I’m saying, sweetheart? It’s good for me to pop in next door. It keeps me up with what’s going on, and it gives me summat to think about. Moreover, it’s nice for me to look after Eileen of a morning. We have a laugh. We get on really well together, and you know what?’ He gazed directly at his late wife’s photograph. ‘Eileen and Libby make me feel I’m needed, if y’see what I mean?’
While his gaze lingered on her pretty face, his old heart flooded with guilt. ‘I’m really sorry, my lovely. I don’t mean to make you jealous, or hurt your feelings or anything of the kind, but I do love Eileen. Oh, not in the way I loved you. I could never love any woman like I love you.’
He gave a quiet smile. ‘I’m not saying we never argued, because you know very well we did, and there were times when you drove me to distraction.’ He did not want to think badly of her; to him, she would always be his first and only real love. ‘I’ve always loved and adored you, and I always will.’
Pressing two fingers on his lips, he transferred the kiss onto her photograph. ‘The thing is, we none of us know what’s round the corner. Fate can be a giver or a taker. Sometimes she’s kindly, and sometimes she causes terrible pain. Things happen and we’d rather they didn’t – and however desperate we are to change them, we just can’t.’
Returning the photograph to the sideboard, he went across the room, heavy with regrets, and as always, wishing his wife was still there. Sinking into his familiar, cosy armchair, Thomas let his mind wander back over the years.
There had been so many wonderful times which he would not change for the world, but there were other, more recent memories that brought him little comfort. He also had a deep regret that he and his wife had not been blessed with children. And now, he was left to face the future alone.
He had always been a practical man. He believed there was a reason for everything; though for the life of him, there were times when he struggled to fathom what that reason was. Overwhelmed with emotion, he leaned forward in the chair, spread his hands over his face and, frantically rocking back and forth, he began to cry. When the dark memories flooded his mind, the sorrow was more than he could bear. ‘I miss you, my lovely,’ he whispered. ‘And I’m so sorry.’
In that crippling moment, he thought of everything he had suffered since his woman had gone. First, the raw shock of it all. Such pain. Such grief. And then the unending loneliness.
The trauma of losing her would never leave him. Grief and pain he had learned to live with. But the loneliness was the worst punishment of all.
