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Chapter Fourteen

FOR THE FIRST time in his working life, Jack’s name stood proud on the door of the manager’s office. The office itself was an amazingly spacious room with a smart, glass-topped desk, and on the walls, Jack planned to hang his set of vintage car pictures.

Accompanied by his assistant Susan Wilson, he did a thorough inspection of the premises, to check on progress for the big open-day event on Saturday. It had taken several weeks of planning to get the new building ready to welcome the public. Jack was satisfied that Sue was already proving her worth and was more than capable of supporting him in his newly acquired role as manager. Moreover, her attention to detail was second to none.

‘I’m concerned about your last email,’ said Jack as they discussed the all-important event. ‘You said you’d been let down by the caterers. Now, did you manage to find a suitable replacement?’

‘I did, yes, Mr Redmond – and not only did they turn out to be a good deal cheaper on their quote, but according to my enquiries, their service and range of food are excellent.’

‘Well done!’ That particular problem had been playing on his mind. ‘Now then . . . how about a nice cup of coffee in my office, and we’ll go over the last items on our list . . .’

Two busy hours later, they had gone through the last crucial matters, finalising the orders for the banners, brochures and other in-house publicity materials that needed to be picked up on Friday in preparation for Saturday’s grand opening.

There was a healthy banter, and even a friendly dis agreement or two between Jack and his new assistant, but between them, the task was soon completed, to their mutual satisfaction. Susan then went away to a meeting with the press officer.

While she was gone, Jack had a number of calls to make, including one to Head Office, to fill them in on what was happening.

Come early afternoon, it was time to view the house which Susan had organised for Jack to rent, until he found a place to buy. She had placed two properties on standby and needed Jack to make a choice. They drove off, Susan leading the way, with Jack following. The journey was a strange experience for Jack, because he knew most of the streets and landmarks along the journey; the most familiar and poignant being The Sun, the pub where his father and his mates used to drink on a Friday night.

The first stop was a house on Preston New Road. It was a grand, stylish house, on three levels, with a rise of steps going up to the front door. Inside, it was cavernous, with rooms of generous size, and an amazing view over to Corporation Park.

‘What do you think?’ Susan was eager to know.

‘Well, yes. It’s certainly a fine old house.’

Having walked the length and breadth of the house, Jack appreciated her choice, but decided, ‘It’s too big, too impersonal. I just can’t see myself in it. Not even short-term.’

When he caught a glimpse of Corporation Park, a deep nostalgia took hold of him, and he vowed to come back later. There had been many times during his boyhood in Bower Street when Jack had desperately needed a friend and confidant. After his father later died from the injuries he suffered in the factory fire, his mother worked longer and longer hours at the hotel. Most of the time she didn’t even seem to know or care that she had a son. She didn’t ask Jack if he was missing his father, or whether he needed to talk.

Wise beyond his years, Jack understood that she was unhappy, that she needed someone. But so did he. Yet, while his mother took solace in dates with hotel guests, he was left to deal with his grief and confusion alone – as well as trying to cope with his schoolwork.

He was lost, and the one who cared was his friend, Libby. Thomas too, had been there for him, but Libby was nearer his age and understood. She too had lost a father – albeit a long time ago.

For as long as he lived, he would never forget that caring, wonderful girl. But, like everything else, good or bad in these past years, she was lost to him now. Like Molly. Like the house he had bought with such high hopes once he had moved to Bedfordshire.

Wasn’t it strange – and unsettling, he thought – how life just ticks on, like a great timeless clock, going ever forward. Never backwards.

He thought about his nightmares; the fear of which had brought him back to Lancashire. Twelve long years ago, life and circumstances had taken him away; now they carried him back.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Never-ending. Never knowing in which direction life might take you.

But what of the nightmares? Had they too, come full circle, like the psychiatrist said? Was he now meant to find out what had triggered them?

He shuddered. Night or day, the images were never far away. Sometimes, if he just closed his eyes for a moment, he was back there, in that dark place of midnight, with the full moon overhead shedding a ghostly light over everything below. He could feel the chilling cold. And see those eyes . . . staring at him, drawing him down and down.

Jack forced the images to the back of his mind.

As he got back into his car, he was thinking of Bower Street, where he grew up. He could be there within twenty minutes, he thought. He knew he wasn’t ready yet, but one day soon, he would make his way there. Above all else, that was inevitable.

He wondered if Libby and Eileen were still living in Bower Street. Then there was Thomas Farraday, who by now must be in his late sixties, possibly edging seventy. Would he still be living in that same house, or had he moved away? Or even worse, perhaps have passed on.

And what about Number 20, the house where he grew up? Another family might be living there, with children. Or was it now the home of some happy young couple, just starting out, and as yet without kids.

The idea of seeing the house again made him feel deeply uncomfortable. And yet, like a homing pigeon, Jack had a deep, natural urge to head back there.

Not a half-mile away from Jack were two of the very people who had been in his thoughts.

‘I don’t want to go home yet!’ Eileen was adamant. ‘Why can’t we go to the cannons, like you promised?’

‘Because it might start to rain again, and besides, Libby will be wondering where we are.’ Also, Thomas was tired, and though he would accompany Eileen across the world and back if he had to, his arms were aching at the roots and his legs were beginning to buckle under him.

‘We’ve already been out longer than we said,’ he reminded her. ‘Matter o’ fact, I’d best give Libby a call right now, to let her know we’re on our way home.’

‘You can’t give her a call! How can you give her a call, when there’s no telephone box anywhere?’ She looked around, searching for the familiar red box. ‘See – nothing!’

‘Ah, well now, my beauty,’ Thomas explained for the umpteenth time, ‘we don’t need a telephone box now adays.’ Proudly he showed her his little black mobile phone. ‘Not now we’ve got these wonderful inventions.’

Eileen was wide-eyed. ‘What is it?’

‘You know what it is, m’dear. It’s the phone that Libby bought me, so’s we could keep in touch if we had need to.’

‘I want to see the cannons,’ Eileen persisted. ‘And why were there no ducks at the lake?’

‘Because we didn’t go to the lake today, my darling. Don’t you remember? You didn’t want to go to the lake today.’

‘We did, ’cause you nearly fell in. Your trousers got all wet.’

He smiled at the memory. ‘That’s right,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘You remember that, eh? But that wasn’t today, my dear. It were last week. The wind got up and blew your hat into the children’s pond at the far end of the lake. My trousers got wet when I retrieved your hat.’

Eileen thought for a minute and then she burst out laughing. ‘That duck pecked your leg, and you screamed like a girl.’

‘I did, and yer right – I nearly fell in, trying to frighten it off. Good job I managed to keep my balance.’

‘Thomas?’ Already Eileen’s thoughts were straying.

‘Yes, m’dear?’

‘Where did we go just now?’ She was frantically trying to remember.

‘You wanted to watch the children playing in the sand-pit,’ Thomas reminded her. ‘So that’s what we did. Then, when you got hungry, we went to the little café and had a cheese-and-tomato roll and a pot of tea.’

‘Oh, did we?’ she still wasn’t altogether sure. All of a sudden, she became very upset. ‘You promised to take me to the cannons!’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry, but it’s too late. Like I said, we’re headed back to the car now.’

Eileen had a suggestion. ‘Can you tell Libby what a lovely time we’ve had?’ Growing increasingly agitated, she pointed to Thomas’ pocket. ‘Call her on that little phone.’

Just to appease her, Thomas took the mobile phone out of his pocket and, after tapping out Libby’s number, he gave the phone to Eileen. ‘There! The number is ringing for you. When Libby answers, just talk into it, and she’ll be able to hear you.’

When Libby’s voice answered, Eileen was thrilled. ‘I can hear her!’ She got so excited, she accidentally pressed a wrong button and turned the phone off. Throwing the phone to the ground, she said tearfully, ‘It’s your fault she’s gone!’

Patiently, Thomas collected the phone and got Libby back on the line. But Eileen wouldn’t talk to her, so Thomas explained that they were on their way home and returned the mobile to his pocket – it was then that she got upset.

Surprised but not overly concerned by her sudden change of mood, Thomas quickly led her underneath the big, stone arch, away from prying eyes. Stooping to wrap his strong arms around her, he held her close while she continued to weep and rant; until finally she was quiet.

At that moment, Jack Redmond entered the park through the same big arch. From a distance he saw the man holding the distressed woman and was about to step up and ask if he could help, when the man noticed him approaching and put up a staying hand, as though asking him not to interfere.

Understanding their need for privacy, Jack turned away. But something about that old man and his companion troubled him. Yet he had never seen them before. And in all probability, he would never see them again.

The uncertainty that ran through Jack’s mind was also bothering Thomas. ‘I reckon I’ve seen that young man somewhere before,’ he murmured. ‘But can I recall where? No, damn and bugger it! What’s wrong with me?’

Now subdued Eileen heard him muttering. ‘What are you saying, Thomas? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, m’dear. I was just thinking out loud. Sorry.’

She glanced warily at the departing figure of Jack. ‘Is that him?’ she asked.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Is he the one who wants to hurt me?’ She began to whimper.

‘No. He’s just a young man who happened to pass by when you were upset. Just a young chap out for a walk, like us . . . that’s all.’

Eileen’s panic was beginning to have an effect on Thomas, causing him to remember the past. Making him fearful. He glanced back, but the young man had already gone from sight.

He forced himself to be calm. In his mind he could see the young man’s face, partially shadowed by the hood of his anorak. For some reason, he felt as though he knew him. Yet, how could he? Fearful things played on his mind, coming back to haunt him, in the same way Eileen was haunted. A sense of disquiet took hold of him.

Who was that young man? What was his name? No doubt the answer would come to him eventually.

‘So, do you like it?’ asked Susan. She and Jack had just viewed the house in Buncer Lane.

‘It’s perfect,’ he answered. ‘I feel completely at home here.’ In fact, there was nothing about the house that he didn’t like. With big windows, a double frontage, an original cast-iron fireplace, and a stained-glass arc over the front door, he guessed it was probably Edwardian in date. All the rooms, upstairs and down, were square and straight, and of a manageable, homely size. At the front was a pleasant small garden, all set with shrubs and trees – one or two of which needed a trim, but that was incidental. The back garden was bigger, of course.

‘There’s a good feeling in this house,’ he told Susan. The minute he had walked through the door, he felt at ease there.

Buncer Lane was long and winding, sweeping down to the main road. Just a short distance away was Bower Street, where he was born and bred. Jack wondered if that was partly why he felt so comfortable here, being within walking distance of his old stamping-ground.

‘I’m so glad you like it,’ said Susan. ‘The owner had it tidied up and redecorated, and decided to let it out. But I think he has rather changed his mind, and now would like to sell it. But no one else has seen it yet, so I thought it was worth you having a look round.’

Jack was intrigued. ‘It seems as though this house was meant for me! I’ll give the owner a call – he might let me rent it from him while I decide whether I’m ready to buy it.

Sue told him she had already asked the owner if that was a possibility, ‘He’s quite agreeable on the idea, but only for a period of no more than twelve months. After that, if you’ve chosen not to buy, he will expect you to vacate.

Jack was relieved, ‘I’m happy with that arrangement. Thank you Sue.’ As it was, he did not envisage that it would take him twelve months to consider buying this delightful house. Jack had already decided that the front bedroom would be his. The decor was to his taste. Moreover, the room took the sun for most of the day, which made it seem bright and welcoming.

Crossing to the window, he took a moment to survey the scene below. With the house being on a curve in the road, he could see right down to the main thoroughfare, and from there in his mind’s eye, he could follow the route to Bower Street. And that made him think fondly of Libby. Being so near to everything he had known as a boy made the memories even stronger.

‘It’s the right house, in the right place, and it has a good feel about it,’ he said. ‘Thank you for finding it, Susan.’

Smiling, she gave a little shrug. ‘It’s what I’m paid to do . . . boss-man!’

Jack laughed. ‘Well, since I’m the boss-man, I’m saying you can go home early.’

When she drove off, he did one more tour of inspection round the house, then jumped into his Lexus and returned to the office to make some calls.