Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 2: The Loner, Born Bad, Three Letters

‘There’ll be no need.’

‘How come?’

‘Well, now you’ve confided in me, it’s given me a chance to turn the tables on that bully Moult.’

‘But that would mean putting yourself in danger.’

Eli gave a knowing wink. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, son. You see, there’s nothing he can blackmail me with. But, given what I now know, I can make his life very uncomfortable … if I’ve a mind to.’

Davie was still concerned. ‘If he knew I’d told you, he could cause all kinds of trouble for me.’ He hoped the foreman hadn’t seen Eli come to his caravan.

Eli understood Davie’s fears. ‘Tell me something, lad; if all this hadn’t happened, would you still be scouring the country, searching for your father?’

The youth sighed. ‘No, Eli, I wouldn’t. I’ve given up. I’ve spent nearly two long years searching for him, and now, I think if I spent another two years searching I still wouldn’t find him.’

His voice fell to a whisper. ‘He gave me a piece of paper with the name of a man on it; he said if ever I wanted to contact him, I should get in touch with this man, because he would always know where to find my dad.’

‘And did you?’

Davie shook his head. ‘I never even read it. I were in that much of a state, I lost it. One minute I had it, folded up tight in my pocket, the next, it was gone.’

‘And you’ve no other clue as to where he might be?’

‘None. Unless he went back to Ireland.’ He had long ago given up the idea that one day he would walk around a corner and there would be his father. ‘It’s been so long, Eli. He might have a whole new life – children and such. I can’t help but wonder if he even wants to be found. You see, I didn’t.’

It was the first time that the youth had voiced this truth. He hadn’t even written to Judy, his best pal. Somehow, it got harder, the longer he left it. He’d been in shock, he knew now – a much deeper shock than anyone could understand – and it had lasted a long, lonely time. He hoped she would forgive him.

‘Mebbe he does and mebbe he doesn’t. And mebbe he hasn’t got a regular woman nor children, and doesn’t want them. Mebbe he’s still in love with your mammy.’ Old Eli felt for Davie. ‘Look, son. You must never give up searching for him. In case he doesn’t know, he has every right to find out what happened to his wife, because until then I don’t suppose he can even begin to think about a new life.’

‘You’re right,’ Davie said. ‘That’s why I need to find him. To tell him what happened after he’d gone, and to let him know that I don’t blame him.’

‘Good lad!’ Eli was encouraging. ‘It could be, now that some time has passed, your dad longs to see you as much as you do him. You just have to keep hoping and searching. I also think you should get in touch with your grandad. He may have heard something. Your dad may have contacted him. But first, and most importantly, you need to get right away from here.’

Davie was surprised that Eli could even put such a thing to him. ‘It’s impossible! How can I ever get away from here?’ he asked. ‘You know what Brian Moult is like. He meant every word he said.’

‘You leave Moult to me.’ Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Eli took out a small pad and a pencil. He began scribbling, advising Davie at the same time. ‘You must get a good night’s sleep, then in the early hours while everyone’s still abed, you’re to quietly make your way to this place.’

Tearing off the top sheet of paper, he handed it to Davie. ‘My old pal’s name is Ted Baker. He farms some hundred acres outside of Bedford, in the area called Goldington. Greenacres Farm is the name of his place.’ He smiled at the memories now flooding his mind. ‘Years back, a fore the war, me and Ted went from farm to farm, working the land and having the time of our lives; until the years caught up with us. When Ted was offered management of Greenacres, he jumped at the chance. Then he got married, and so did I, and in the end, we went our separate ways … though we never lost touch.’

He scratched his head. ‘Mind you, come to think of it, I haven’t heard hide nor hair of him this past year. But then I’m not concerned, because that’s how it’s been. We write every month or so for a time, and then it’ll be a whole year before we contact each other again. Farmers are busy people, and they don’t get too much time for letter writin’.’

‘So, how do you know he’s still there?’ the boy asked.

Eli laughed at that. ‘Because he’s too deeply rooted in the land to do anything else. Farming is all he knows, and all he ever wanted. Old Ted has found his bit of Paradise. Believe me, son, he’ll be there, you mark my words.’

He wrote a second note, and in it he told his old friend that Davie was the hardest-working young man he’d ever come across, and that he needed work and a place to stay. He explained how Moult had got his claws into him, and how, once Davie was safely out of the way, he intended giving the bullying foreman a taste of his own medicine.

He finished the letter by promising that he would make an effort to visit, sooner rather than later, and that he hoped all was well with his old friend. We’ll drink the drink and revisit the old days, he wrote, and when the letter was finished, he folded it over and passed it to Davie. ‘Give this to him,’ he instructed. ‘He’ll help you – I know he will.’

Davie carefully placed both slips of paper into a neat box with a sliding lid that he had fashioned on his travels. After the experience of losing his father’s contact’s details, he was determined never to lose anything else.

Eli got up and said his goodbyes. ‘My old lass will be wondering where I am,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget to let me know how you’re doing, lad – and don’t concern yourself about Moult.’ Again he gave that knowing smile. ‘Putting that pipsqueak in his place will give me a great deal of pleasure.’

For a long time after Eli left, Davie lay on his bunk, thinking and planning, and hoping that the old man wasn’t about to get himself into trouble on his account. Deep down though, he had a good feeling about it all. Eli must know what he’s doing, he told himself. ‘I could do worse than trust his judgment.’ All the same, unlike Eli, he could not be certain that Brian Moult would let him go so easily. If the police became involved … Davie dare not even think about it.

When a mood of restlessness threatened to settle on him, he decided not to wait for the others to return. If he didn’t go now, he’d never find the courage, he thought.

Throwing on his donkey-jacket and cramming his few belongings into a duffel bag, he opened the door and peered out. The machines had all been turned off and the crowds had gone. In the stillness of night, and from somewhere in the distance, he could hear his two workmates laughing and chatting as they made their way back to the caravan.

Now was his chance. Eli had urged him to get a good night’s sleep, but Davie was too churned up for that. Right now, his instincts were urging him to leave, and to trust that wily old fella Eli to deal with the repercussions.

With the laughter of his two colleagues edging closer with every minute, he grabbed up his bag and left that place. Soft as a fox in the night, he crept away, down the steps and round behind the caravan. Then he ran along by the perimeter of the site, hoisted himself over the fence, and he was free as a bird.

‘Did you see that?’ Having enjoyed a drink or two in a lively seafront pub, the two workmen ambled along, delightfully drunk and disorderly. ‘There’s somebody there,’ full of gas and booze, Josh belched long and hard.

Pete sniggered. ‘Seeing things, are yer, mate? That’s a bad sign, that is. You’ve got the gallopin’ DTs!’

‘No! I’m telling you. Look over there – somebody’s climbing the fence.’

‘You gormless bugger, there’s nothin’ out there!’ Pete said, going to urinate against a tree. ‘You must be seein’ things.’

The two of them went away laughing. ‘You never could take your booze, could yer, Josh. One sip of Newcastle Brown and your imagination runs riot.’ Pete’s raucous laughter echoed across the site. ‘It’ll be monsters coming out the sky next.’

‘Ssh! Stop your noise. I’m taking over from the night-watchman in half an hour, and if that blasted foreman finds out I’ve been boozing, I’ll be on me way, no doubt with you in tow, first thing tomorrow morning.’

The prospect of no work and no wages quietened them for a while. But it wasn’t long before they were again poking fun at each other, helpless with laughter as they fell up the steps to the caravan; so addled with booze, they didn’t even notice that Davie was long gone.

Doggedly pushing ahead, Davie wended his way to the open road, where he hoped he might cadge a lift south. He would not rest easy until he had put as much distance between himself and Billy Joe’s Fairground as he could.

Having grieved to the full for his mother, and been unsuccessful in the search for his father, he was now more than ready for a new chapter in his life.

He felt as though, with this help, he had turned a corner, and maybe, just maybe, there were good things ahead for him.

With that in mind, and with every step he took, his heart felt lighter than it had done in a long, lonely time.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_25439377-281d-5e45-a857-0df9fc1c8b3c)

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.