Born Bad

‘Is she very old?’

He laughed. ‘Old enough, I suppose.’

‘Grandad was old, wasn’t he?’

‘I don’t know that he would have agreed, but yes, I dare say he was.’

‘Are you old, Daddy?’

Harry thought on that for a moment. ‘Well, thirty-six isn’t really meant to be old,’ he had been shaken by the realisation of how short life could be, ‘but yes, today, I do feel old.’

‘Am I old?’

Harry laughed at his innocence. ‘God, yes! You’re as old as Methuselah.’

‘Who’s Musoothella?’

Chuckling, Harry settled the boy into the back of the car. ‘He was a very wise person.’

‘Am I a wise person?’

His father gazed on him tenderly for a moment. ‘You know what?’

‘What?’

Harry gave a wistful smile. ‘I think you’re probably the wisest person in the whole wide world.’

‘Wise as Kathleen?’

‘Well, nobody’s as wise as Kathleen, but near enough, I reckon.’

Harry gave an involuntary shiver. Today had been a typical late-summer day, with long spells of bright sunshine and a warm, gentle breeze. Now though, with the onset of evening, the clouds hung menacingly low, and there was a sudden nip in the air. ‘We might just get there before dark,’ he muttered, covering Tom with the tartan travelling rug and pressing Loppy into his arms.

He then gazed back a moment to where they had been. Only the fleetest of moments, but he held it safe in his mind for all time.

Quickly now, he climbed into the driving seat and glanced in the mirror, to see the boy’s head lolling to one side. ‘That’s right, son,’ he murmured. ‘You get some sleep.’

Before starting the engine he glanced at the sleepy boy, ‘Aw, child! You give me so much joy … and I have nothing to give you in return.’

Driving away, he wondered what lay in store for them both. In the wake of recent events, he had made a hasty decision. Now with every mile that took them closer, the doubts grew stronger.

He had been a youth of eighteen when he left Fisher’s Hill. He didn’t altogether leave because he wanted to; war was in the air, and joining up seemed like the right thing at the time. He had left his home under a cloud, trailing with him a deal of heartache and regrets, with the intention of returning.

In the eighteen years between, he had never forgotten the place that he loved so much. He moved away, travelling far and wide, and eventually settled after the war in Weymouth, with his new sweetheart, Sara, but Fisher’s Hill and Judy remained a part of him, with the bad memories always overshadowing the good.

Even now, it was hard to believe that he was just a heartbeat away from Fisher’s Hill.

When he had first contacted Kathleen after Sara’s funeral, he was amazed and reassured to find that she was still alive, still the same lovely, homely person, and that she would welcome him and young Tom with open arms.

In his grief, he had needed something familiar and comforting, and it did his heart good just to see her familiar handwriting.

How many of his old mates might still be living there? He was thinking especially of Phil Saunders. Had he stayed? Had any of them gone back after the war – if they got through intact – and if they had, would they welcome him with open arms, or would they reject him, as he had rejected them all those years ago …

And what of his old sweetheart, Judy? Was she still there? Had she met someone – and if so, were they happy, or like himself, had she been badly scarred by what happened back then? He hoped not. Oh, he truly hoped not.

Aching with regrets, he slowed the car into the side of the road, where he remained for what seemed an age; thinking, remembering. Hurting all over again.

‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ Opening his eyes, Tom peered at him through the mirror.

‘Nothing’s wrong, son.’

‘Why aren’t we moving?’

‘I just need a minute,’ he replied. ‘A minute, that’s all … to get my thoughts together.’

Collecting a comic book from the passenger seat, he handed it back to Tom, watching in the mirror as the child began to quietly look at it and read a few words to himself.

‘Judy might not be there,’ Harry muttered under his breath. ‘I didn’t want to ask about her, and Kathleen never volunteered any information.’ He hoped that was a good sign. ‘I expect she’s moved on … made a new life for herself.’

The man that Sara had moulded ached for his wife.

The boy inside the man longed for the one called Judy.

After all these years Harry could still see how heartless he had been. In spite of what had happened, he had truly loved her, back then, when he was just a youth.

Now though, he was a man with a man’s responsibilities. He had lost the woman he loved and married, and he had a child to care for. He had no right to fret about the past because right now, at this moment in time, he was only concerned with building a new life for himself and Tom. That was his priority. He had to keep reminding himself of that!

At the junction he saw the sign, and his heart lurched:

Fisher’s Hill – 2 Miles

He wondered if it would be wise to ring Kathleen and say he had changed his mind, that he was not coming back after all, but that he would keep in touch.

Then he was ashamed to himself. What’s the matter with you? he thought. So you want to turn tail and run, is that it? It wouldn’t be the first time, he admitted to himself, shamefacedly.

No! The choice was made. He had to go on. Kathleen was waiting, looking forward to seeing him and Tom. She was the only one who had stood by him, the only one who believed in him.

Thankful that Tom had drifted back to sleep, he realised how fortunate he was to have a friend like Kathleen.

Kathleen would give Tom a woman’s love and comfort, he knew. He believed that beyond a shadow of doubt, because hadn’t she done that for him? She had always been there for him. It was Kathleen who had seen him through that dreadful time with Judy, and she had never once judged him.

When his father took off with another woman and his mother turned to drink, he had felt so alone, but as always, Kathleen gave him comfort.

Some months later, drunk and violent, his father came back, pleading that he was ready to try again. That night, while Harry was out with his mates, his parents got into a fight and somehow a fire started – ‘from a lit cigarette on the bedclothes’ the investigators said.

Witnesses claimed that the fire exploded into a raging inferno. The emergency services arrived within minutes, but it was too late. ‘A tragic accident’ was the verdict.

That same night, Kathleen took him in and brought him through the nightmare of losing both his parents.

Through each and every crisis in his colourful, rebellious youth, Kathleen had been his only salvation; a tower of strength.

During the war, and his proud time of serving with the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment, she was like a mother to him, keeping him safe, he felt, with her parcels and prayers. More than one thousand men were killed from the regiment, but Corporal, then Sergeant Harry Blake was not one of them. And now, when he had turned to her yet again, after years of deserting her and all that reminded him of his time at Fisher’s Hill, she had welcomed him with open arms.

Stronger of heart, he drove on. Tom half-opened his eyes. ‘Are we there yet, Daddy?’

‘Not yet, Tom, no. Go back to sleep if you’re tired.’ He saw how the boy was still drowsy. Since Sara was taken, neither he nor Tom had slept through the night.

Minutes later, he pulled off the main road and drove very slowly up the lane leading to Fisher’s Hill.

He had come this far and now, whatever the outcome, there was no way back.

Returning here, to the place of his youth, to his family roots, his first sweetheart and the tragedy of losing his parents, was the worst feeling. Yet coming back had always seemed inevitable, somehow. It was something he had needed to do, unfinished business, and when Sara was lost to him, turning to Kathleen seemed the most natural thing in the world.

As he drew closer, his heart was clenched like a fist, his throat so dry he could hardly swallow. He felt much like a man might feel on his way to the gallows. It was right that he should suffer, he thought cynically. A kind of penance for his sins.

One glance at the sleeping child in the back made him ashamed. It was Tom who mattered; not him.

Determined to concentrate on what lay ahead, he inched the car forward, his anxious gaze drawn towards the houses. As far as he could see, nothing had changed; every little detail was exactly as he remembered it. The brown-bricked houses were still there, strong and sturdy snuggled up side by side, with their little front walls and concrete paths, tidy well-kept gardens and net curtains at the windows; many of them twitching as folks peered through to take a look at the Hillman Minx moving at a snail’s pace up the hill.

His troubled gaze went to the house on the corner. Number 12 – there it was on the door in large brass numbers just as he remembered.

He wondered if he was being watched. Was Judy there, still living at home? Was she hiding behind the curtains, her sorry eyes trained on him in that very moment? Or had she really gone for ever, from the house, this street, and his life?

He had no way of knowing, because in the many recent telephone conversations between them, Kathleen had never once mentioned Judy, and neither had he. It was for the best, he thought.

In spite of himself, and even when he had met and married his lovely Sara, Judy had lingered, in the boy, and in the man; and the questions never went away. After he was gone, did she realise how he had had no choice but to do what he had done … for both their sakes? Or had she despised him to this day, and found contentment with someone more deserving?

‘Let it go, Harry,’ he told himself firmly. ‘It was a lifetime ago.’

But he couldn’t let it go. Against his better instincts, his quiet gaze lingered on the house. In his mind’s eye he could see himself and Judy, laughing at silly, childish things; dancing to music on the wireless or just curled up on the sofa. He pictured them both running down the path, hand-in-hand, incredibly young and blissfully happy. Then he remembered the bombshell that ruined it all. If only he’d known! But he had never even suspected. So why then, should he feel so guilty?

He closed his eyes, the memories too painful. ‘I did love you, Judy,’ he told that young girl. ‘Don’t ever doubt that.’

Braking, and putting the car into neutral, he turned to look at the sleeping child. ‘Your mammy knew what I had done,’ he whispered. ‘I told her everything, yet she took me into her life without question, accepting me as I was. She gave me a new start … taught me how to love again.’

The tears burned his eyes. ‘I’m sorry you lost her, Tom,’ he murmured. ‘So sorry.’ Leaning over, he stroked the child’s soft hair. ‘Your darling mammy was a wonderful woman and I loved her with every fibre of my being. You’ll always miss her, and so will I, but I promise you … whatever life throws at us, we’ll face it full on. You need have no worries, because I’ll always be here for you.’

He raised his eyes to the shifting skies. ‘Oh, Sara! I know you believed I should come back here, but now that I’m only a short distance away from where it all happened, I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Did you think that I might find the forgiveness I crave? Or was your intention that I should settle the past once and for all, whatever the consequences?’

He closed his eyes, but the chaos in his mind was rampant, until he turned yet again to gaze on his son. Sara had entrusted him to take care of the boy and, for now, that was all that mattered.

For a moment he dwelled on all that was good in his life, and he felt at peace. ‘I’ll take good care of him, Sara, my love,’ he vowed. ‘With all that’s in me, I give you my word.’

Composing himself, he put the car into gear and drove on up towards Kathleen’s house. As he drew closer, the street enveloped him. It was as if he had never been away.

Kathleen O’Leary had been keeping vigil at the window. When she saw the car approach, she pressed close to the pane, her anxious gaze searching for the young man she had known all those years ago. When she recognised him, her heart leaped.

Flinging open her front door, she ran down the path to greet him; a small round woman with a mop of wild auburn hair and a crinkly, homely face that made you smile. ‘Harry, me darlin’! I’ve been watching out for youse both …’ Her Irish lilt was music to his ears. ‘Sure I was worried you might change your mind, but now look, here you are at long last!’ He had not changed, she thought. He was taller, wider of shoulder, and life had etched itself in his face, but it was him – Harry Boy – the lad she had cared for all those years ago. Her surrogate son.

She grabbed Harry as he got out of the car, and for a long time, they clung to each other. He had not realised just how desperately he needed to see that familiar, welcoming face and to feel those chubby comforting arms about him. The bright eyes were the same, and the wide, ready smile, filled with such kindliness.

‘Aw, Harry Boy … will ye look at yourself? Isn’t it the strong fine man you are!’ She held him at arm’s length, her quick brown eyes travelling the length and breadth of Harry’s physique. ‘Ah sure, you’ve not changed a bit. You’re the same handsome, capable fella with the same dark eyes and wild mop of chestnut-coloured hair.’ A tear brightened her eyes. ‘You’ve a sadness about ye though,’ she murmured. ‘I can see I’ll have to bring back that winning smile, so I will.’

‘Oh, Kathleen.’ Harry was deeply touched by her concern. ‘You can’t know how wonderful it is to see you again.’ Moved by a well of emotion, he clutched hold of her shoulders. ‘We’ll never be able to thank you enough.’

‘Give over with you! Sure, I’m only glad you’ve arrived safely, so I am.’ She covered him in a beaming smile. ‘And I am so longing to see the darlin’ child.’

Peering into the back of the car, she gleefully clapped her hands together. ‘Oh now, will ye look at the little fella. Sure, it doesn’t seem a minute since yerself was just a lad.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure I don’t know where the years have gone … and now here ye are with a wee bairn of yer own.’

Gently waking Tom, and helping him out of the car, Harry watched as Kathleen 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.

Chapter Three

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 and nail for a new one, but the stubborn old eejit was having none of it.’

Recalling the fierce but friendly arguments concerning the bed, Harry was curious. ‘So how did you manage to persuade him?’

Kathleen gave out a raucous laugh, then quickly shushed herself. ‘Michael had a night out with his mates down the pub, dominoes and drinking till the early hours, the buggers! The ting is, he staggered home totally blathered, setting off the dogs and waking up the street, he was! Then he was singing and now he was threatening at the top of his voice: “Me name is Michael O’Leary, an’ I’ll knock out the lights of any man who gets in me way!”’

Harry had to laugh. ‘So, did anyone challenge him?’ Going to the sofa, he gently laid the child down.

‘No, thank the Lord. Sure, they’d have more sense than to tackle the likes of him! Well, anyway, I heard him arriving – in fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole world didn’t hear him! He fell in the door, crawled up the stairs and crumpled into bed. Five minutes later he was away with the fairies.’

Harry had always thought Michael to be a lovable old rogue. ‘But if he was asleep, he couldn’t cause you any trouble, could he?’

‘Aye, well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you, eh?’ she sighed. ‘Had a nightmare, he did, thrashing about in a fight with some fella down the pub. The old bed was a-shaking and a-heaving, and suddenly it collapsed. The bedhead fell over and trapped Mikey by the neck. He was yelling and bawling, and saying how he could “feel the vengeance of the Lord”.’

With a hearty chuckle she finished the tale. ‘I told him to shut up his yelling, or he would feel the vengeance o’ me yard-broom across his backside!’