Читать книгу Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 2: The Loner, Born Bad, Three Letters - Josephine Cox - Страница 21

THE JOURNEY WAS hard, and the weather was stormy.

At times almost tropically hot, the rains soon came, and shelter was not easy to find. Hitching a lift was a nightmare as people pushed on, eager to reach their destination and wary of a young man standing by the roadside, bedraggled and wet.

After several uncomfortable days of working his way down the country, Davie was sorely tempted to seek more permanent work and to settle wherever he could lay his head.

But he had promised Eli that he would find his old friend in Bedford. With Ted Baker he had prospects of a new life, a safe haven, and regular money coming into his pocket. That was what he craved, and that was what he kept in mind.

So, he drove himself onwards, sometimes cadging a lift and at other times paying for transport. But with his limited funds, he was making slow headway.

Just when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, the stormy weather cleared, his humble stash of hard-earned money grew, and life was altogether more comfortable. He got a full three weeks of work in the market in Wolverhampton, before following the trail south-east again; but first he visited the second hand clothing stall to replace his boots and clothes, all of which had seen better days.

Never more comfortable than when he was outdoors, free and unencumbered, Davie stripped naked to bathe in brooks and rivers; he slept under trees and immersed himself in the privacy and seclusion he had long valued. Day and night, the skies were his umbrella and the wild creatures were his friends. And when he let his mind wander, it always went back home to Blackburn, to his grandad and Judy. He wondered whether his father had been in touch with the old man, and if he had, did he now know the truth about what had happened after he walked out on them? Did he want to find his son? And was he even now, out there somewhere, searching for Davie?

Disillusioned and cynical, Davie would sigh at the thought, and push it from his mind. He wasn’t ready yet to make contact with Joseph, or even with Judy. Time had moved on, and so much was altered. He had spent many long months searching for his father, and Don was nowhere to be found. What made him think his father would be out on the road searching for him? And what if, by some miracle, they did find each other? Would they still be the same as before? Had his father changed? Would he find his son changed?

Would they be able to pick up where they had left off? And more importantly, would Davie be able to forgive how he walked out? Even now, Davie couldn’t help but wonder … if his father had stayed, would his mother still be alive?

Davie was haunted by what might have been, but he did not apportion blame. It was simply a sorry series of events over which, it seemed, no one had had any control.

When he thought of his father, he was afraid of losing him, in the same way he had lost everything that was precious in his life. And when he thought of his mother, he was angry and sad, and filled with bitterness at the circumstances that had made her that way.

Day and night, these haunting thoughts never left him. They were part of his past and they shaped his future. And that future seemed a vast empty place.

When he thought of Judy though, his heart warmed. In his mind’s eye he saw her happy bright smile, he heard the light, musical sound of her laughter. He saw her running across the paddock, long brown hair flying out behind her and no shoes on her feet. He imagined her sitting cross-legged on the grass, wide-eyed and full of wonder as she listened to his fanciful dreams and his excited ramblings. And oh, how she had cared; more than anyone else, it was Judy who had shared his impossible dreams.

She had been such a big part of his growing-up, and he missed her terribly. And he knew that, if he travelled the world over, he would never find a friend like her again.

One day though, he told himself, one day in the future, when his dreams were fulfilled and his roving at an end, he would turn towards home. He would see Judy and his grandfather again – and oh, the tales he would have to tell them!

One beautiful spring day, some nine months after leaving Blackpool, he hitched a lift into the outskirts of Bedford. ‘Here you are.’ Having stopped his wagon on the Cardington Road, the gruff, bearded driver waited for Davie to climb down from the cab. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for,’ he called.

Davie thanked him, closed the cab door and waved him on. And when the lorry was gone from sight, Davie was surprised and thrilled to see before him the wide, flowing River Ouse, flanked on either side by banks of well-kept grass, and crossed at different points by numerous bridges, each with its own character.

Davie thought it a beautiful place. Majestic swans glided through the water; children played on the banks under the wary eyes of their mothers, and when the occasional canoe was driven out from beneath a bridge, the ensuing ripples created wider and wider circular patterns that broke into a trillion pieces as they came into contact with the walls at either side.

People on bicycles wended their way in and out of the age-old weeping willows that lined the pathways either side of the river; young couples lay on the grass, kissing and canoodling, oblivious to the passers-by. In the nearby cafés, customers sat and chatted, and from somewhere along the river floated the sounds of a playing brass-band.

The sun shone down and there was a sense of magic in the air. And for the moment at least, Davie was content to be a part of it.

So this was Bedford, his destination. He glanced about. Was this where he was meant to be? he mused. Was this where he would finally belong? He hoped so. He really and truly hoped so.

Feeling wearied by the long journey from his last stopover at Northampton, where he had done a fortnight’s stint in a shoe factory, he headed for one of the small cafés overlooking the river. Here he settled himself as far away from the busiest area as possible; he could see the river from here, yet avoid the prying eyes of strangers.

‘What can I get you?’ The trim, middle-aged waitress was polite though unfriendly, and that was exactly how he wanted it – though what he didn’t know was that she was quietly noting his crumpled clothes and wondering where he hailed from, and why he had chosen to sit here, when there were plenty of other, more suitable places – cafes where the workmen gathered to chat, or one of the many public houses in town.

But for all his scruffy appearance, she thought he seemed well-mannered and amiable, if somewhat uncomfortable around people.

‘I’d like the biggest mug of coffee you do,’ he requested, in a Northern accent. ‘Oh, and a thick bacon buttie, with lashings of bacon, please.’ The very idea made his mouth water; it was a long time since he’d had the taste of a good, genuine bacon buttie.

‘I’m afraid we don’t do bacon sandwiches, but I can offer you a ham and tomato roll.’ And when he nodded, abashed, she said, more kindly, ‘I’ll make that two, shall I, sir?’

While she went to get his order, Davie made himself comfortable, determined to enjoy his moment of luxury and to savour the beauty of this idyllic scene. There would be time enough to go in search of the address Eli had given him. Meanwhile, he would sit and think, and make his plans for the future – though what his future might be, was anyone’s guess.

He relished his snack to the full. Afterwards, satisfied and content, he ordered another cup of coffee and sat with it for a good half-hour, enjoying the treat; until finally he felt the urge to continue his search for Eli’s friend.

At the counter he fished the relevant coins out of his pocket and paid his dues, even leaving a sixpence tip for the waitress. ‘Thank you.’ She actually smiled on him as he went.

Whether it was the sixpence that made her smile, or the sight of him leaving, the youth couldn’t be certain.

Once outside and away from watchful eyes, Davie retrieved the slim wooden box from his duffel bag and took out the piece of paper with the name and address on it given to him by Eli. He found the older man’s scrawl difficult to decipher:

Mr Edward Baker

Greenacres Farm

Goldington, BEDS

There were no further directions and no telephone number. ‘Good God, Eli!’ Davie said aloud. ‘You could have drawn me a little map, or given me a list of directions to help me on my way.’

He stopped to ask passers-by, and it seemed no one knew the whereabouts of Greenacres Farm. ‘Why not go to the bus depot and ask at the counter there,’ suggested one helpful old dear. ‘If anybody knows where it is, they’ll be the ones.’

Following her excellent advice, he queued up at the ticket-counter of the bus and coach depot. ‘I’m looking for a place called Greenacres Farm,’ Davie explained hopefully. ‘It’s near here, somewhere around Goldington.’

The clerk knew of it. ‘You’ll need a number fourteen bus,’ he told Davie. ‘It won’t take you to the door, but the driver will drop you off on the main street, then it’s a walk along the lanes to the farm.’

Thanking him, Davie made his way across the boulevard, where he boarded a number 14 bus headed for Cambridge. He explained to the conductor where he needed to get off. ‘You’re on the right bus,’ came the reply, ‘but you’ll have to walk three miles or so once we’ve dropped you off.’

Seeming to have no choice, Davie settled himself into a seat, where he was quickly joined by a small boy. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked of Davie.

Davie looked around, and seeing how the woman behind was appearing to keep an alert eye on the child, he enquired of her, ‘Is it yours?’

‘Not exactly.’ She appeared to be amused by Davie’s description of the boy. ‘I’m just looking after “it” while my daughter works the morning shift,’ she answered with a smile.

Davie nodded. ‘Friendly young feller-me-lad, isn’t he?’

‘Is he troubling you?’

Davie would have preferred to answer yes. But when at that moment he looked down to see the little face uplifted in a cheeky grin, his heart melted. ‘No, of course not,’ he answered. ‘He’s no trouble at all.’

Satisfied, the woman sank back in her seat and left Davie to the chatter of her grandchild. After Davie was made to answer umpteen questions, about his destination, and why he was on the bus, and where his mum was, the child grew increasingly fidgety. ‘Are you all right?’ Davie thought the child was feeling travel sick.

‘Have you got a hankie?’ The little boy held out his hand.

Davie shook his head. ‘No. Sorry, I haven’t.’

‘I need a hankie.’

Davie fished about in his pocket and as he thought, there was no hankie to be found, and behind him, the woman appeared to have nodded off. ‘Got a cold, have you?’ he asked the child.

‘No.’

‘So, why do you need a hankie?’

Lowering his voice, he made a face. ‘I think I’ve plopped in my pants.’ To Davie’s horror, he gabbled proudly on, ‘I plopped in them before … when Grandma took me to the pictures. She said I was a dirty little hound and gave me a smack.’

Horrified, Davie inched aside, his nose wrinkled in anticipation. ‘You haven’t plopped now, have you?’

Wriggling and squirming, the boy dutifully felt the crutch of his trousers, his face crumpling as he looked up at Davie. ‘Dirty hound,’ he groaned. ‘Dirty little hound.’ The crying started as a kind of whining, which quickly soared to the pitch of hysteria. ‘Want my grandma!’

‘You little bugger!’ Mortified, his grandma reached out, and grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, she hoisted him over the seat towards her. ‘What did I tell you, eh?’ Her voice sailed down the bus. ‘Didn’t I say, if you needed the toilet you were to ask me before we got on the bus – and now you’ve been and done a packet in your new trousers, you dirty little hound. Well, you can sit in it now, until we get home. And I hope it teaches you a lesson you won’t forget!’

None of the passengers would ever forget it either, especially Davie, who got the full stench of the suspect ‘packet’ in the boy’s trousers.

Relieved when they reached his stop, Davie scrambled off the bus. ‘Which way to Greenacres Farm?’ he asked the conductor before they set off again.

‘Go left from here … down the lanes about three mile or so. The farm is on your left. You can’t miss it.’

Davie thanked him and turned away. The end of his long journey from Blackpool to Bedford was finally within reach.

‘Bye, bye, man!’ The boy’s cheery voice sailed after him.

‘Bye, bye.’ From a safe distance he turned and waved, chuckling heartily as he went. He hoped the little chap was not too uncomfortable.

Davie pushed on towards Greenacres Farm, in no particular hurry now his destination was so close. Instead he sauntered, pausing every now and then to take in what was all around him. The grass verges were alive with all manner of wild flowers, and above him the birds sang and courted, and in every field there was much to see; the cows and sheep, and the occasional fox that slunk its way along the hedgerows, and just there, skirting the stream, was a moor hen with its babies trailing behind.

He wondered what Ted Baker was like, and suspected he would be made in the same mould as Eli … kind and honest, with a way of speaking out when he thought he was right.

In his mind’s eye he pictured Ted Baker as a strong, ruddy-faced man, wrinkled by the elements, and possessed of a twinkle in his eye. No doubt like Eli, he too favoured a pint of the good stuff when it was available. All in all, Davie was looking forward to meeting him.

As always, after a time his thoughts turned to Judy. She’d have liked it here, he knew. He leaned on a gate and looked out at the lambs frisking in the field. She’d have been out there, talking to the lambs and paddling in the stream. He grinned, but then suddenly felt very lonely. ‘You deserve everything good, my Judy,’ he murmured. ‘I hope you meet somebody who will look after you the way you deserve.’

He had never thought of Judy as a sweetheart, despite that wonderful kiss she had given him; to Davie, she had been more of a sister. But just then, imagining her in some other boy’s arms, he felt a peculiar ache. It might be many years before they met up again, he knew, but they would do so one day, he was sure. Meanwhile, he wished her all the happiness in the world.

He was deep in thought when he was suddenly alerted by the thunder of horse’s hooves, fast and furious, heading in his direction. Straightening up, he looked across the field and there it was … a huge black horse, bolting out of the spinney, with the rider clinging on to its back for dear life.

There was no time for thinking. Instinctively, Davie jumped the gate into the field and at once the rider was yelling at him to: ‘GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU DAMNED FOOL!’

Undeterred, Davie stood his ground; albeit with an eye for diving into the ditch, should he need to. Horses had always been his favourite animals; he loved and respected them, and through his many travels, he had learned so much more about their natures – knowledge that he prayed would stand him in good stead now.

With the rider in danger of falling and either breaking his neck or being trampled underfoot, Davie had to take action. As the horse neared, he opened his arms and looked it in the eye. ‘Whoa, boy … whoa now …’

Wild-eyed and frothing at the mouth, the horse began to falter, yet continued to head straight for Davie and the gate, and the road beyond. And Davie knew if it got into the road, it could spell death and disaster for the rider, and his horse. ‘WHOA THERE!’ he repeated strongly. Though his heart was bumping with fear and he knew all the risks, Davie stood his ground.

At the last minute the horse turned, reared into the air and threw the rider to the ground, and for one awful minute it seemed as though its hooves would descend and beat him to pulp.

‘Easy, boy … take it easy …’ Davie’s first thought was for the man who had landed awkwardly and was lying too still on the ground. The danger had not gone away, as the horse continued to snort and flail its legs in the air.

‘All right … easy, boy. Come on, now … easy.’ Several times Davie tried to calm it, but the horse was too agitated. With a final shake of its head, it galloped off across the field and back the way it had come.

Davie turned his attention to the man, who was now beginning to stir and moan. ‘Damned bloody brute! Got spooked by a rabbit and took off as if all the bats in hell were after him!’ Groaning in agony, he closed his eyes and lay still for a minute. ‘As for you, what in God’s name were you thinking of?’ He vented his rage on Davie. ‘You ruddy lunatic … you could have been killed!’

Wisely ignoring the stranger’s reprimands, Davie sat him up; no easy task as he was a man of stature. Some fifty years old or so, with earthy-coloured hair, brown eyes and a quick temper, he did not take kindly to being thrown to the ground.

‘Do you think you can stand?’ Davie enquired warily.

‘If you’ll give a helping hand, lad, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.’ With Davie’s assistance, the man struggled up, crying out when he tried to put his foot to the ground. His face was grey with pain. ‘Something’s wrong.’

Glancing down, Davie saw how the man’s right foot was twisted into an odd shape. ‘I reckon you’ve got a sprain,’ he told him. ‘Don’t try putting any weight on it.’ Sliding his arm round the man’s waist, he took the considerable weight to himself. ‘Where do you live?’

The man pointed towards the top of the field. ‘Over the hill,’ he said … ‘A half-mile or so.’

‘Well, there are two things I can do,’ Davie explained. ‘I can try to make you comfortable and leave you here, while I run for help. Or, if you’re able and it’s not too painful, I can take your weight and we can hobble you home. Which is it to be?’

‘Get me home,’ the man answered determinedly. ‘And on the way you might forgive an old fool for cursing you, eh?’ Through his pain he had a warm smile.

Davie spent a few minutes searching for a sturdy fallen branch to act as a crutch under the man’s right armpit; while he supported him on the left, good side. The half-mile between them and the house seemed more like a hundred miles. The big man was a ton weight on his shoulder, and where he was clinging to Davie’s neck, the strain was unbearable. ‘Not long now,’ he kept assuring the older man. ‘Just another few steps and we’re there.’ And not too soon, he thought, because in spite of his own strong, muscular frame, Davie feared he could not support the man’s dead weight much longer.

As they neared the house, Davie thought how splendid it was. Constructed in red brick, with tall chimneys and long windows, it had acres of lawns and flowerbeds leading up to the driveway.

‘My late father lived in the cottage through the orchard,’ the injured man revealed. ‘He always planned to build a grand house on this plot, but somehow the finances were always beyond his reach. Before he died, he gave the land to me, and I was determined to keep his dream. I built this place twenty years ago, just before the war. I named it “The Willows”, after my late wife’s favourite walk through the withy fields by the river.’

He took a moment to clear his throat and observe the house from its every graceful angle. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ He turned to look at Davie. ‘Do you have family?’

Caught offguard, Davie wondered how he might truthfully answer that. But before he could reply, there was another question: ‘Do you have brothers?’

‘No.’

‘Sisters?’

‘No … except there is a girl called Judy. She and I grew up together. I can never recall a time when Judy wasn’t there. So yes, I expect you could say she’s the nearest thing I have to a sister.’

‘Mmm.’ The older man nodded his head. ‘Well, I’ve got one child, a daughter. Lucy is the light of my life – kind-hearted, hard-headed and even harder to argue with – so in my experience the best way is to let her imagine she’s got the upper hand. What do you say to that, eh?’

Davie smiled. ‘I’d say that was good thinking.’ The smile was wiped away with the next question.

‘Tell me … have you always been a good son?’

‘I hope so, sir. I’ve always tried my best.’ Sudden visions came to his mind – of his father walking out and his grandfather at the end of his tether. Oh, and the way it had been with his mammy! Rita’s face as she lay dying flashed before his eyes, and a lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Would the memories ever fade? Or would they haunt him for the rest of his life?

‘You have a wonderful place here, sir,’ Davie said quietly. ‘I was brought up in the middle of a busy town, with a street filled with people and more hustle and bustle than you could imagine. There were houses lined up on either side of us, and never a garden in sight. But for all that, I loved my hometown. I thought I might be there for ever.’

Then, realising he was giving away too much of himself, he caught his breath. ‘It was just … well, something happened and I decided to leave and make my own way in the world. I thought I might be home sick, and I was for a while. But I’ve worked my way across the land and lived in many different places, and everywhere I’ve been, every road I’ve trod, and whether it be early morning or late at night, the world is alive with excitement …’

Despite his pain, the older man was mesmerised. ‘Goodness me! It seems to me that you have a great passion for life, young feller-me-lad!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Davie was mortified. ‘I didn’t mean to go on like that. I’m not usually so talkative.’

‘Oh, don’t be sorry,’ his companion advised. ‘Never apologise for what you feel inside. Any man, woman or child who doesn’t have passion for life is not alive at all, that’s what I say.’

He brought Davie’s attention to the slight figure of a young woman strolling across the gardens. ‘There she is! That’s my Lucy … the loveliest creature you will ever lay eyes on.’

They were quickly spotted by the girl. Tall and slender, with long dark hair, she was dressed in a simple blue belted dress, and looked to be in her late teens.

At the sight of her badly limping father, she began running towards them. ‘Daddy? What’s happened? Has there been an accident? Where’s Madden?’

The big man snorted. ‘We gave him the right name, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘Madden suits him fine because that’s just what he is … mad as a hatter.’

Glancing at Davie, he grumbled. ‘And here’s another mad devil – stood his ground with the horse coming full on at him. Damned crazy, the pair of ’em!’ He yelled in pain when his foot dragged over a molehill. ‘Jesus! I’ll have that blasted horse sent for the chop, that’s what I’ll do!’

The girl rolled her eyes at Davie. ‘He always says that,’ she informed him. ‘But he would no more send Madden for the chop, than he would send me.’

Her father laughed at that, but warned her all the same, ‘I know I promised you could have him next year when you’re eighteen, but I’ve changed my mind. That stallion is lethal. He’s wild and unpredictable. I’m taking no chances with you, Lucy love. We’ll get you another, calmer horse.’

‘Dad, I don’t want a calmer horse. I love Madden.’

In too much pain to argue, her father let it go. But his mind was made up. As far as he was concerned, his precious daughter would never be allowed on that black hell-devil’s back. He would issue that same directive to all concerned, and after what happened today, the sooner it was done, the better.