Journey’s End

COPYRIGHT

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollinsPublishers 2006

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2006

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

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EBook Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780007369690

Version: 2017-08-10

PRAISE

Once in a while we are blessed with the friendship and love of someone who is uniquely special. When I was an infant and my mother gave birth to her fifth baby boy, I loved him from the moment I saw him; as we all did. She named him William, but he was always known to us as Billy.

Small and sturdy, with the funniest, most mischievous little smile, he was a rascal from the start. He grew up to be a fine man, with high principles and a fierce passion for family. He was at times infuriating, aggravating, bossy, but immensely lovable. He was our Billy, one of us and we all respected and loved him, without reservation.

A short time ago we celebrated his sixtieth birthday; it was a wonderful evening, with everyone there and our Billy in the midst of it all, laughing, teasing, innocently flirting, showing off his beloved grandchildren and happy to be with family and friends.

A short time later, he fell ill and, with very little warning, was all too quickly gone from us. With the memories of his birthday party still strong in our minds, we found ourselves mourning the loss of a much loved and very precious man.

God bless you, Billy boy, and keep you safe until we meet again. We’ll talk about you and love you, and keep you proud in our hearts.

Most of all, we’ll miss you desperately, our one and only Billy. There will never again be anyone like you.

DEDICATION

This book is for my Ken as always

CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

PRAISE

DEDICATION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART TWO

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PART THREE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PART FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

OTHER WORKS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHATTERBOX

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Part 1

Late March, 1954

The Telling

Salford, Bedfordshire

Chapter 1

SHE WOKE WITH a cry. It was the same dream as before – the same place, the same faces, the same jolt of terror; real in her dream, real in her life. Would it never leave her be?

The sweat dripping down her temples and her whole body trembling, she clambered out of bed and went to the window, where for a moment she stood, regaining her composure, collecting her senses.

Drawing back the curtains, she peered into the darkness, thick and impenetrable, like the deepest recesses of her mind. Dismissing the nightmare, she returned to the question that tormented her.

Should she tell? Would it destroy lives and minds? Would they hate her or, as she desperately hoped, would they thank her? But then, why would they thank her when the news she had to reveal was so unbearably cruel?

‘Dear God, give me the courage to do what’s right,’ she prayed.

Maybe it would be better if the truth was never told. Yet that would be the coward’s way out, and she might be many things, but Lucy Baker was no coward.

She glanced at the clock; it was five minutes past three – another day beginning. Taking her robe from the back of the chair, she slipped into it and sat on the edge of the bed, where she remained for a time. She sighed, a long, broken sigh. ‘Oh, my dearest Barney, my joy, my life.’ There was a murmuring of guilt, but never regret. ‘I loved you then, and I love you still.’

Barney had been her only true love, and it was a love all-consuming, all-powerful. There was no way to describe how much she missed him. No words. Only memories.

The smile slipped away and in its place came a look of hatred.

While Barney had brought her joy, Edward Trent had brought her tragedy.

‘Edward Trent … monster!’ Her mouth curled with loathing, she spat out his name as though it was tainted with poison. His wickedness had caused such pain; she would carry the burden of it for the rest of her days.

Lucy was no stranger to nightmares. A thousand times, she had awoken terrified and sobbing, reliving the night when Edward Trent had kidnapped her little son Jamie, and caused him to drown.

In the sorrowful years that followed, Trent had haunted her every waking and sleeping hour. In the daytime she would be in the middle of a mundane task, like washing the dishes or drawing the curtains, and suddenly he was gnawing at her mind until she could hardly think straight. Then at night came the dreams which left her breathless and shaking. Eventually, over the past twenty and more years, she had grown used to them. Like the hatred, they had become part of her life.

In the dreams it was always the same: the darkness, the water, and the chase … that unforgettable chase, ending in such horror.

This time though, the dream had been different. There was no frantic chase, no rushing water as it tumbled downstream, tugging at her ankles and throwing her off-balance; there wasn’t even the soul-wrenching sound of her child crying. This dream was like nothing she had ever experienced.

She had seen only his face, that swarthy, handsome face, his mouth frozen in an easy smile. Unlike before, he was not threatening her, nor was he reaching out. There was only the smile. And those mesmerising eyes, utterly chilling. And the silence – eerie, absolute.

‘Take a hold of yourself, Lucy,’ she said aloud. Grabbing the crumpled corner of the bedsheet, she wiped the sweat from her face. ‘It was just a dream. He can’t hurt you any more.’ So many times she had tried to convince herself of that. Even so, the fear never went away.

It never would.

In the adjoining room, in that lazy space between sleeping and waking, Mary lay in her bed and listened. She heard her mother open the curtains, and she heard her muffled footsteps as they paced the floor. The young woman did not attempt to go in: she knew that Lucy would not want that. Instead, for the next hour, she lay waiting, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

This was not the first time she had heard her mother agitated, unable to sleep. The first time was many years ago, when she was just an infant. The sound of Lucy sobbing had disturbed her deeply. In her childish manner, Mary had gone to comfort her, but her mother sent her away. Since then, whenever she heard her mother weeping in the night, Mary would keep vigil, desperately hoping it would not be too long before her mother went back to sleep; as she always did.

Mary had known there was some secret torment in her mother’s past; some fearful thing that touched all of their lives in some way – herself, her mother, and Adam, that dear kind man who had always been there to protect them.

Only recently, Adam had taken it upon himself to tell the truth of what happened all those years ago. In the telling, he had betrayed Lucy’s trust and broken his vow to his old friend Barney. At the time he believed it was for the best. Now, he was not so sure.

Mary was shaken to her roots by the story he told. Even now it was not ended. There were others who had to know: the ones who had gone away; the ones who had never known the truth of Barney Davidson’s sacrifice.

In Mary’s far-off memories, she recalled her father, Barney, who had died when she was a tiny girl. He had been a special kind of man, frail in body but powerful in spirit. She recalled how he would sit her on his knee and create magic through his vivid fairytales; he made her laugh with his comical mimicry, and sometimes when she woke crying, he would hold her up to the window and show her the stars and describe the beauty and wonder of the world they lived in. He told her she must never be afraid, because there would always be someone looking over her.

She loved him so much, and then he was gone, and their lives were never the same again.

When she was satisfied that her mother had gone back to sleep, Mary turned over and relaxed. Tomorrow, there would be no mention of this night. Mother and daughter would smile and chat, and talk of everything else, and it would be as though the nightmare had never happened. Because that was how Lucy wanted it.

Chapter 2

BY HALF PAST eight, Lucy was out of her bed, washed and dressed and sprucing herself in the mirror. ‘Not bad for an old ’un, if I say so myself!’ Laying down the hairbrush, she ran her two hands through her short cap of greying hair, teased out a few stray curls and thought how, if it wasn’t for the occasional lapse of memory and the age spots on the back of her hands, she could maybe pass for a young thing of fifty.

Sighing wistfully, she shook her head. ‘Wish all you like, my girl,’ she chided herself. ‘It won’t change the fact that you’re past your prime, so stop fancying yourself in the mirror. Before you know it, the doctor will be here,’ she frowned, ‘not that you need him, because you don’t – but it makes him feel wanted, so shift yourself, and be quick about it.’

She observed her image in the mirror. She did her best to keep what was left of her looks, but had not yet regained her strength since stumbling in the local churchyard a couple of years ago. The incident seemed to have sparked off a form of arthritis, but this was what you expected, wasn’t it, at her age. You had to slow down, whether you wanted to, or not.

She gazed critically on herself; the skin was not as glowing as it used to be, and there appeared to be more of it which hung in little loose swathes round her neck, and there were lines round her eyes and mouth. But the small straight nose and heart-shaped face were still pretty, and the blue eyes as bright as ever. She had never been a beauty, that much was true, but she’d been better off than most women because, even though it was for a cruelly short time, she had had the love of a man like Barney Davidson.

Thoughts of her beloved overwhelmed her. She knew that Barney had never loved her as he had loved his wife, Vicky. In the end, Lucy may have filled his heart, but it was only ever Vicky who filled his soul.

Lifting the photograph from the dresser, she gazed down on herself and Barney, and the infant girl in his arms. It was a cherished picture, taken only a few months before Barney was lost to her, and even then, when the illness ravaged him, the goodness of the man, and his absolute joy of life shone out of his face – still a handsome face for all that.

Lucy choked back a sob. They had had so little time together, yet she thanked God for every second. They had shared everything – the anguish of seeing his wife and children leave him; the guilt and tears afterwards; the companionship between him and Lucy that grew into a kind of loving contentment, then the sheer joy and pride when Mary was born to them.

Through all the ups and downs of every passing day, they never forgot the others: Leonard Maitland, a man who had gone away knowing the truth, even though it meant he would never again have peace of mind, and Vicky and the children who had sailed with him, estranged from Barney and in total ignorance of the price he had paid for their new lives in America.

Lucy recalled the day when they left. ‘There was no other way, Barney,’ she murmured now. ‘No other way …’

The loud spluttering of a car engine brought her hurrying to the window. ‘Adam!’ The brightness of a spring day was startling, and the skies above were blue and cloudless. For late March, it was unusually warm. ‘Adam, what’s going on?’ she called down.

Covered in muck and oil, Adam was standing before the car in the drive of Knudsden House. He had the bonnet up and the starter-handle lodged into position.

‘The damned thing’s been playing up again,’ he called back, ‘and now it’s completely given up the ghost. I’ve done what I can, but I reckon she’ll need a new engine.’ Diving his head under the bonnet again, he fiddled with a few nuts and bolts, before returning to swing the handle for the umpteenth time. There was a shuddering and a spluttering, and a shout of victory when he thought he’d done the trick, but then the engine fell silent again. ‘It’s no good.’ Defeated, he gave a shake of the head. ‘There’s no spark at all now.’

Lucy shouted down: ‘Leave it! Come inside … Come on.’

His heart warmed by the invitation, Adam waved up to her. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

Closing the window, Lucy smiled to herself. No spark, eh? She hoped the day never came when they said that about her! Life might be a bit more of a challenge these days and her health was not as robust as she would have liked, but by God, she wasn’t done yet. Not by any means!

By the time Adam showed his face at the kitchen door, both Lucy and Mary were seated at the table, Lucy enjoying her eggs and bacon, and Mary toying with her scrambled eggs. ‘Look at the state of you!’ Pointing to Adam’s mucky face and hands, Lucy asked him sternly: ‘Have you had your breakfast?’

‘Not yet, no.’ Because the car had been playing up the previous day, he’d got out of his bed early this morning to work on the engine. ‘There was no time for breakfast,’ he explained. ‘Two hours I messed about with that blessed machine this morning.’ He groaned. ‘I honestly thought I’d fixed it!’

Lucy felt as though she had known him forever. A loyal friend to them both, Adam Chives had been part of her life with Barney, and after Barney was gone, he had seen her through a bad time and remained ever close. Lucy had often wondered why he never married, until some time ago he confessed to her that she had always been the only woman he had ever truly loved.

Time and again Adam had asked her to be his wife and time and again she had gently refused. But knowing how persistent he was, Lucy was in no doubt that some time in the not too distant future, he was bound to try again.

Taking a gulp of her tea, Lucy discreetly regarded him. Homely, well-built, with thick greying hair and kind expressive eyes, Adam was an ordinary kind of man, but with an extraordinary sense of loyalty. When he made a friend it was a friend for life and when he fell in love, it was with heart and soul.

Over the years, Lucy had prayed that he might find a woman who would bring him the happiness he deserved; though in the beginning she had never believed it was herself he needed.

When some years ago, she expressed her hope that he might find a good woman to share his life, he told her he wanted no other wife but her. And that he would always be there for her as long as she needed him.

His confession had touched Lucy deeply.

‘Right then, if you go and wash up,’ she told him now, ‘I’ll see to your breakfast.’

‘Thank you, Lucy, but no thanks!’ Hungry though he was, he didn’t want her fussing over him. ‘I don’t like to put you to any trouble, especially when you’ve got the doctor coming this morning.’

Brushing aside his protests, Lucy took another long gulp of her tea, before pushing back her chair and standing up. ‘Breakfast will be ready when you are,’ she assured him. ‘And don’t worry about the doctor. I can handle him.’ She laughed. ‘He seems a bit nervous of me. No sooner is he in the door than he’s itching to get out again.’

‘I’m not surprised. Poor devil!’ Adam chuckled. ‘I’ve seen how you boss him about.’

‘Only when he tries to tell me what to do!’ she retorted. ‘I know I’m not as young and foolhardy as I once was; my bones ache like the devil and there are times when I want to run and can only shuffle. Some days it’s like going through a fog … one minute it’s clear as a bell and I can go forward, then the next I can’t find an easy way and have to slow down.’

She smiled into his eyes. ‘So you see, Adam, the bad times come and go, but I’m not bedridden yet, thank God. If I’m tired I rest, and if I feel all right I’ll do whatever I please.’ She gave a wry little smile. ‘Either way, I expect I’ll pop my clogs soon enough.’

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Adam gave a boot-deep sigh. ‘You can’t be serious for one minute, can you? Whatever will we do with you, eh?’ He knew what he’d like to do. He’d like to sweep her into his arms and carry her off. But you didn’t do that with Lucy. She was stubborn and a law unto herself. But that was the nature of her, and he would not have it any other way.

‘And don’t leave the sink with a rim of oil round it neither!’ Lucy’s voice sailed across the kitchen.

‘Right, boss.’ Bowing slightly, Adam gave a mock-servile tug of his forelock. ‘I’ll make sure I leave it ready for inspection.’

Having put the plug in the sink and taken the kettle from the hob, he began pouring the warm water into an enamel bowl. Looking over his shoulder with a cheeky wink, he made Lucy smile.

Through all this good-natured banter, Mary had remained silent, but now she told Adam, ‘Best do as you’re told. You know she’ll examine your hands back and front before you’re allowed to sit down – oh, and don’t forget to wash behind your ears, or you’ll be made to stand in the corner.’

Lucy wagged a finger. ‘Behave yourself, young lady. I may be getting on a bit, and you a grown woman now, but I’m still capable of clipping your ear.’

Mary chuckled. ‘I’m sure you are!’

At the sink, Adam took a moment to think. Getting on a bit? In his mind’s eye he could see Lucy Baker, as she then was, as a young woman running barefoot across the fields, her long flowing locks lifted by the breeze, and on her face a smile bright and warm as a sunny morning. Sometimes, before the world was wide awake, when he was out walking across the headlands, he would see her by the river, seated on a fallen log with her feet dipped into the water. He had loved her then and knew how, for the remainder of his life, he would never love another woman. What he felt for Lucy was a love that would endure forever.

‘Nay, you’re far too full of yourself to ever get old,’ he said cheekily.

‘Well, thank you, Adam,’ Lucy replied. ‘I shall take that as a back-handed compliment, shall I – though I think you are seeing me through rose-coloured spectacles.’ Something in his voice and the look in his eyes told Lucy that he might be ready to ask her again if she would marry him, and just for the briefest moment, her heart seemed to turn over.

‘They say beautiful women never really know they’re beautiful,’ he added softly. ‘I reckon that’s true where you’re concerned.’

‘Get away with you, you old flatterer!’ Strangely embarrassed, she took a forkful of leftover egg and popped it into her mouth, and astonished Mary by blushing bright pink.

Graciously refusing Mary’s offer to cook Adam’s breakfast instead, Lucy threw two more rashers of bacon and some mushrooms into the pan. In no time at all, they were sizzling away.

A few moments later, having finished washing at the sink and making sure he’d wiped it round afterwards, Adam seated himself at the table, where his breakfast was put in front of him. ‘Cor! Look at that – a real feast.’ He hadn’t realised how truly hungry he was until the aroma of hot food flooded his nostrils.

‘Thank you, Lucy.’ He turned to Mary with a wink. ‘Your mother’s not only beautiful, she’s a good cook into the bargain.’

Lucy thought one fine compliment was enough in a day. ‘Food is for eating,’ she said, placing a platter of toast before him. ‘So stop chatting and get it down you, before it goes cold.’

Smiling to herself at the way these two seemed to fit together like a hand in a glove, Mary was already getting out of her chair. ‘I’ll make some fresh tea.’ She knew how much Adam loved her mother, and she also suspected that, although she didn’t yet realise it, her mother had come to love him back.

Leaving them to talk, she took her time making the tea, while occasionally glancing at the two of them, now deep in conversation and looking for all the world like any other husband and wife; though they were neither of them ordinary. They were special, at least to her.

A short time later, having set them up with a fresh pot of tea, Mary excused herself. ‘Ben will be here soon,’ she explained. ‘We’re going into Shefford to look at a new tractor.’

‘A new tractor, eh?’ Lucy was delighted at how her daughter’s friendship with Ben Morris, the owner of Far Crest Farm, had grown into a close and loving relationship. It had been her dearest wish for Mary to find a man who cared deeply for her, and she truly believed Ben to be that man.

‘Talk of the devil, here he is now.’ Adam looked out of the window and drew their attention to the dark-haired, good-looking man on his way up the drive; with his tall capable build and long, easy strides, he looked like a man who could handle whatever obstacles life put in his way.

A few years ago, emotionally and mentally drained by the break-up of his marriage, Ben had decided to uproot himself and build a whole new way of life. It was not an easy decision, but when he eventually moved to the area of South Bedfordshire, he kept in close touch with his only child, Abbie, who had a secretarial job in London and shared a flat there with friends.