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

Beth and Judy. These two were the pivot of Tom’s existence. And he thanked the Good Lord for them, every day of his life.

Glancing after Rita, Tom recalled the heartache she had caused her family. What a foolish woman she was. She had a loving husband, a fine son, and a generous father who had taken them in after she and Don had lost everything in a failed business venture. Yet time and time again, she put them all through the mill.

He flicked the reins to gee up the horse. ‘God knows how they put up with her,’ he grumbled. ‘’Cause I’m buggered if I would!’

Chapter Two (#ulink_06006d4d-099f-57a3-a2b6-3a4334df4957)

FROM HIS BEDROOM window, young Davie Adams watched his mother come stumbling down the street. Her beautiful dark hair was wild and dishevelled; he heard the raucous laughter and her quick defiant shouts, and his heart sank. ‘Drunk again,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Mam! Why do you do it?’

He sneaked out to the landing and looked down. In the light from the parlour, his father’s anxious figure threw a shadow over the carpet as he paced up and down, waiting for her, obviously worried about her. The boy knew that his dad loved his mam, and forgave her every time. But what if this was one time too many? His young heart thudded with fear and misgiving.

‘Go back to bed, lad. Don’t be out here when she comes in.’

The boy almost leaped out of his skin. ‘Grandad!’ Turning, he saw the old man standing behind him. Once tall and straight, with looks that could entrance any woman, Joseph Davies was now slightly stooped, his dark hair marbled with grey, and a look of desolation in his blue eyes. ‘Will she never learn,’ he asked gruffly. ‘God forgive me, what kind of daughter have I raised?’

‘Don’t get upset, Grandad,’ Davie whispered. ‘You’ll see, it’ll be all right. It always is.’

Smiling fondly, the old man laid his hand on the boy’s head. ‘You’re a good lad, Davie. An example to us all.’ He nodded. ‘Happen you’re right. Happen the both of us should get back to our beds.’ He gave a stifled little cough. ‘Afore we catch our death o’ cold, eh?’

He paused at the sound of someone fumbling with a key in the front door lock, then the banging of fists against wood, and then her voice, loud and angry. ‘What the devil are you lot playing at in there? Thought you’d lock me out?’ There was a crude laugh and then she was yelling, ‘OPEN THIS DOOR, YOU BASTARDS! IT’S BLOODY FREEZING OUT HERE!’

Joseph’s face crumpled with disgust. ‘Drunk and shameless … cares for nothing and nobody, least of all us.’ He had long heard the gossip, and for a while he had chosen to ignore it. But little by little, the truth had hit home: his daughter, little more than a streetwoman.

Suddenly she burst in, muttering and swearing when she lost her balance as she turned to slam shut the door. ‘You buggers locked me out – left me in the cold like some mangy old dog.’ Grovelling about on her knees, she continued to moan and curse, ‘Thought you’d keep me out, did you? Unfeeling, miserable bastards …’

‘Stop that racket – you’ll wake the boy! Nobody locked you out.’ Don was unaware that his son was already out of bed, a witness to everything.

Startled that he was so near, Rita scrambled to her feet and looked up. Standing before her was a man of some stature, his handsome features set hard and his dark Irish eyes tinged with sadness. Where he had once been proud and content, there was lately a nervousness to him, a sense of despair had gradually etched itself into his heart and soul, and it showed – in the eyes and the deepening lines on his face, and in the way he held his shoulders, bowed down as though he had the weight of the world on them.

Everyone knew how it was between him and his wife. His workmates knew more than most. Some had even bragged of bedding her. They goaded and tormented him, until he was forced to defend both himself and his wife. Twice he’d been involved in fierce fighting, and each time it was he who took the blame and got sent on his way.

After a time he had learned to keep his head down and get on with his work There seemed no point in trying to defend her any more, and though he evaded the jokes and innuendos, the shame was crippling, but he was a man trapped in the wonderful memories of how it used to be. Even now he loved her with a passion that frightened him. But now, at long last, his love for her was overwhelmed by another more powerful feeling; a feeling of utter, crippling revulsion.

‘Hello, Donny, my big, handsome man.’ Unsteady, unashamed, she opened her arms and went to him, her clumsy fingers tousling his brown hair. ‘You needn’t have waited up. I meant to be home earlier, only I went to see Edna Sedgwick. We got talking – you know how it is …’

He pushed her away. ‘Don’t lie to me, Rita.’

‘I’m not lying.’ She could look him in the eye without the slightest compunction. ‘I’m telling you the truth! Why do you never believe me?’

He smiled then – a slow, sad smile that made her feel guilty. ‘Because I’m not the fool you take me for,’ he answered in his soft Irish lilt. ‘I’ve learned the hard way so I have.’

When again she prepared to lie, he bristled with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Rita, look at the state of you. You’ve been out on the town … again! Booze and men, that’s what you’ve been up to! Who was it this time, eh? One of the men from the factory, was it? One of my new workmates, is that the way of it, eh? Will I go into work on the morrow and have ’em all staring at me, … sniggering behind my back and pitying me? Is that how it’ll be?’

‘NO!’ The guilt was written all over her face, and still she defied him. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. I would never do a thing like that.’

‘Liar!’ He looked down on her face and adored every inch of it. But if he didn’t stand up to her this time, he never would. ‘I know what you’ve been up to. You’ll not squirm out of it this time. I’ve had enough of being the town laughing-stock. It’s all over now, so it is. You’ve played the dirty on me once too often.’

‘I already told you, I was with Edna.’ She had learned to lie handsomely. ‘We were in her house all night.’

When she came closer, reaching up, he got another waft of her tainted breath, and it sickened him. ‘I want the truth.’ He pushed her away.

‘I already told you – I went to see Edna.’ Rita yawned. ‘She was right glad to see me, Donny – she asked after you and the boy, and—’

‘For God’s sake, Rita, will ye stop!’ Suddenly he had her gripped by the shoulders. For what seemed an age he looked her deep in the eyes, and what he had to say next shook her to the core. ‘So, you went to see Edna, did you? And what would you say if I told you that Edna Sedgwick died two days ago.’

Throwing her aside, he looked at her with contempt. ‘Fred called here earlier to tell us the news.’ The bitterness in his voice was cutting. ‘Poor Edna’s been at death’s door this past week, and you didn’t even know, or care. In the two years since she moved away, you couldn’t find the time to go and see her once – not even when you knew she’d been ill. So I’ll ask you again: who were you really with tonight?’

Genuinely shocked to hear the news about Edna, Rita knew her lies had found her out. A sob rose in her throat as she looked pleadingly at her husband.

He hardened his heart. ‘I don’t suppose you even know who you were with. Lifting your skirts to some stranger you might never see again. I dare say he thought you were a woman off the streets. And where did ye go this time, eh?’ The big Irish man could have wept as he said the ugly words to his beautiful wife, who degraded them all with her actions. ‘Down the alley, was it?’ he persisted. ‘Or did you find some filthy room at the back of a pub?’

When the awful truth of his words hit home, Rita’s heart sank. So Edna had died and she didn’t even know. She and Edie, as she had always called her, had been the best of friends, shared many a giggle as Rita did her neighbour’s hair of an evening, accepting one of her homemade sponges in return. Innocent days, simple pleasures. Remorse settled on Rita like a cloud. What was she doing – to herself, to her family?

‘Don’t talk like that, Donny,’ she pleaded. ‘You know it’s you I love.’ She couldn’t help what she did, but she was sorry. She was always sorry. ‘I won’t do it again, I prom –’

‘No more promises!’ Don Adams came to a decision that had been months, if not years, in the making. ‘You’re not the woman I married,’ he told Rita. ‘Sure, I don’t know you any more. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I don’t want you in my bed, and I don’t need you in my life.’ Suddenly, though his heart ached with love for her, he felt as if a great weight had fallen from him. The endless torment was over. He strode towards the door.

There was something about his manner that frightened Rita; a kind of finality in his threat she had never heard before. He was talking of not wanting her, not needing her. Oh, but he’d said that before during their rows, many times. But this time he seemed different and she was afraid. He was her life, her one and only true love. She could never survive without him.

‘First thing in the morning,’ he went on, ‘I’m away … me and the boy. As for you …’ He turned, just for a moment, staring at her, seeing a stranger. ‘It’s finished, Rita. I’ve had enough. From now on, you can do what you like, because I don’t give a sod!’ Ignoring her wailing and her excuses, he left the room.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard her scurrying after him. ‘Don’t leave me, Donny. I’ll be good … Don’t stop loving me!’ She grabbed him by the trouser leg, pulling him back.

Frustrated, he swung round and snatched her to him. ‘How can I ever let myself love you again?’ he said, on a shuddering breath. ‘Dear God, Rita! There was a time when I would have willingly died for you, I would have fought the world for you – and I have. But not any more.’

‘Don’t say that.’ She saw her life ending right there. ‘Please, Donny, don’t forsake me.’

‘What – you mean in the same way you’ve forsaken me?’ There was a break in his voice. ‘You’ve shamed us all. You’ve shamed me and the boy, and your father – the only one who would take us in when I lost my business and couldn’t pay the rent.’ He despaired. ‘Time and again, I gave you a second chance. Like a fool, I thought you might come to your senses.’

Thrusting her away, he said harshly, ‘Why do you need to be with these other men? Aren’t I man enough for you? Don’t I treat you well – provide for you, love you as much as any man can love his woman?’

He thought back to the time when their love was young. Oh, but it had been so wonderful – exciting and fulfilling for both of them. They had met fifteen years ago, when Joseph had come into the firm of carpenters where young Don, waiting for his call-up papers, was working. It was Rita’s half-day off from her apprenticeship at the hairdresser’s so her daddy had brought her along for a bit of company. The young Irishman and the seventeen-year-old girl had fallen for each other at first sight.

Don sighed deeply, all these thoughts rushing through his brain while he held his wife’s body close to his, feeling her heart beating wildly against his own.

When had it all started to go wrong? he asked himself. Maybe if they had had more children … but it wasn’t to be. More likely, it was when he’d gone overseas with the Army in 1942. A lot of people had changed during the war – and not for the better. Good marriages had gone bad all the time. He knew that Rita resented being stuck at home with baby Davie, and that bitch of a mother of hers, Marie, had encouraged her to go out drinking and dancing and doing God knows what.

It had all led up to this. And he couldn’t take it any longer.

‘What is it with you?’ he asked brokenly. ‘You’re fortunate to have three people in your life who give you all the love they can, and yet time and again you throw it all back at us.’

Supporting her by the shoulders he looked at her sorry face, now swollen with the drink, her once pretty eyes drugged and empty, and the tears rolling down her face. And his heart broke. She looked so vulnerable, so sad, he wanted to press her to him, to hold her so tight and love her so much that she would never stray again, and for a moment, for one aching moment, he almost forgave her.

If only she would mend her ways, he thought. If only she could be a proper wife and mother, like she used to be. But she couldn’t. That woman had left them all behind long ago. ‘No, Rita.’ The sadness hardened to a kind of loathing. ‘Sure, I can’t forgive you any more.’

In that moment, when he turned from her, he felt incredibly lonely, and more lost, than he had ever been in his whole life. And yet he still loved her. He always would.

From the top of the stairs, Davie and his grandad saw and heard everything. ‘Come away, boy.’ The old man slid an arm round his grandson’s shoulders. ‘You don’t need to listen to this.’