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

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.’