Midnight

‘Because I’ve had lunch there.’ ‘Oh, really? So how come you didn’t take me?’ ‘Because it was a work thing, booked and paid for by the customer.’ Grabbing his jacket from the back of the door, Jack slipped it on. ‘I’ll see you there then?’

On his way to the car, Jack looked back to see Molly waving him goodbye from the doorway.

‘See you later!’ he called.

Molly gave a curt nod.

A moment later, he was gone.

‘You’d best keep your promise, Jack Redmond!’ she muttered to herself.

En route to work, Jack thought about Molly’s warning. He understood her concern, but she could have no real idea of his fears. Crawling along in the traffic, his mind went back to when he was a child. Strangers had tried before and failed to rid him of the nightmares. ‘They couldn’t help me then,’ he thought, ‘so how can they help me now, when I’m thirty?’ Leaving Leighton Buzzard behind, he swung onto the A5 and headed for Bletchley.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he slowly began to agree that Molly was right. It was only a matter of time before their relationship was damaged beyond repair, and he didn’t want that to happen.

By the time he’d arrived at work and parked the car, the idea was growing on him. Making his way down to the showrooms, he felt more confident with every stride. ‘I suppose I could make an appointment,’ he thought, ‘and like Molly said, I don’t need to stay if I feel uncomfortable about it.’

Pushing open the heavy glass doors, he bade a cheery good morning to his colleagues. ‘Is the boss in?’ he asked the pretty blonde at reception.

Flicking out a handkerchief, the girl, called Jan, discreetly blew her nose. ‘Sorry, Jack, but, Old Branagan called in to say he was heading straight for Bedford.’

‘Dammit!’ Jack was disappointed. ‘I’ve got someone interested in trading his car against our demonstrator. I just need to run the costing by him.’

He gave it a moment’s thought. ‘That’s okay. The customer isn’t due until late morning – plenty of time for me to phone the boss on his mobile. All I need is a quick conversation. I’ve got all the figures, except for the price tag on the demonstrator.’

Placing his folder on the counter, Jack gave her an easy smile. ‘Branagan’s a crafty devil, though! He’s known all week that we’ve got the schedules to work through.’

Jan giggled. ‘You’ll have to sort out the schedules yourself then, won’t you?’ She winked cheekily.

Jack winked back. ‘Ah! But if I do the deal on the demonstrator, it’ll be me who gets the commission.’

Enjoying the banter, Jan asked casually, ‘Have you thought about that offer?’

‘What offer?’

‘You know.’ She tutted. ‘I thought Branagan had already mentioned it – about you running the new showrooms they’re setting up in Lancashire. That’s your neck of the woods, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes! I mean no, I haven’t really thought about it, and no, I haven’t actually been offered it yet either.’

‘Yes, you have. I heard him telling you about it only the other day. He asked if you had a hankering to go back north. I heard him say it.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t offer me the job.’

‘In a roundabout way he did.’

Jack smiled, ‘Ah, but asking questions in a roundabout way doesn’t get answers, does it? Besides, what with the recession biting, who knows if they’ll be going through with it? Soon, none of us will be able to afford to buy cars. We’ll be back to our pushbikes, or Shank’s pony.’ He chuckled.

‘So, if you were asked,’ Jan persisted, ‘you’d say yes, would you?’ She hoped not, because Jack was the only really friendly bloke there. All the others treated her like part of the furniture. Car showrooms were truly a man’s world, and didn’t she know it.

Jack gave it a moment’s thought. His answer was a resounding ‘Nope!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve been there, done that.’ He smiled. ‘So, is the inquisition over now, little Miss Nosy?’

‘Don’t you miss the north?’

‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

‘What about family and friends – wouldn’t you like to get back amongst them?’

‘I was an only child and my father died when I was sixteen,’ Jack answered. ‘My mother soon remarried and moved to America with her new husband. I heard later that she’d taken on three teenage children, a house the size of Buckingham Palace, and money coming out of their ears.’ He gave a wry little smile. ‘I never heard from her again. But it didn’t matter, because even before she left she never had any time for me. I think she saw me as a waste of space.’

‘Aw, that’s awful!’ The young woman could not imagine life without her own, doting parents.

‘Truth is, I never missed her after she was gone. I’d been left to my own devices for years. So, when Dad died and Mother took off, I sorted myself out, just like I’d always done.’

When she had abandoned him, his mother left him an address, but she must have moved quickly on, because when he wrote to that address, the letter came back, stamped Return to Sender. He was not surprised. In the end, he set about making his own way in the world.

It had not been easy – and there’d been no chance of taking up the place he’d been offered at Manchester University, which he’d regretted for a long time – but he was proud of what he’d achieved.

When he relayed all this to the girl, she tutted. ‘So, your mother turned her back on you. Well, it’s her loss, not yours.’ She quickly regretted her curt, throwaway remark. ‘Oh look, Jack . . . one day she’ll turn up on your doorstep, you’ll see.’

Jack used to think the same, but it had been too long and now he had no desire to ever see her again. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ he replied with a shrug.

‘What about friends?’ she prompted. ‘You must have made some of those?’

‘Well yes, there were school-friends, of course, but we lived too far apart to become lifelong buddies. We went to school, then we left and got on with our lives.’

‘And neighbours? Did you not make friends with some of the neighbours’ kids?’ She could see he was impatient to be off, but did not want to let him go just yet.

Jack’s mind went back along the years. ‘There were no boys of my age living in the street,’ he recalled. ‘I knew all the neighbours though, because after my father passed on, my mother carried on working for a while. She did shifts on reception at the Kings Hotel, and it seems I was bandied about like a little parcel . . . or so Eileen told me.’

‘Who’s “Eileen”?’ Jealousy sharpened her voice. ‘An old girlfriend?’

Jack laughed at that. ‘Hardly.’ It was all coming back now. ‘Eileen was Libby’s mother.’

‘So who’s Libby?’

‘My friend. When my mother went out to work, Eileen would sometimes look after me, and she’d bring Libby round with her. She’d read us stories, do puzzles with us and have lots of fun, and sometimes she’d take us to the park.’ He remembered it all so vividly. ‘Eileen Harrow was more of a mother to me than my own mother,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What about when you were older, though?’ Jan wanted to know. ‘Did you have friends at secondary school?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not what you might call real friends,’ he said. ‘Truth is, apart from an ongoing friendship with Libby, I was a bit of a solitary sort. I preferred my own company.’

When the visions rose in his mind, he quickly excused himself, giving her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Jan, I’d best get on.’ One word; the tiniest memory – and they invaded his mind. He dared not let them loose. He dared not!

Behind him, the girl watched him go. ‘You’re a handsome devil, Jackie boy,’ she murmured. ‘If you’d only give us a chance, you and me could be great together.’ Knowing it would never happen, she gave a heavy sigh. If Jack Redmond had clicked his fingers, he could have any girl he wanted – she knew that. Trouble was, he only had eyes for that bossy-boots Molly Davis from Banbury’s. It was obvious that Jack adored his Molly, but Molly was rumoured to be anybody’s, as long as they had a fat wallet. Still, there was no one more blinded than a man in love, Jan thought enviously.

The reminiscing had lifted Jack’s spirits. He made himself a coffee, then went into his office with the idea of tackling the day’s schedule. After turning on his computer, he took his coffee to the window, where he looked out across the yard and beyond, to the main road, now choked with traffic. For a while he sipped his tea and thought of Molly. Maybe he really should get help? But he’d been through all that as a child. The doctors gave him games to play and things to do; they tested his mind until he was dizzy, but nothing changed.

Nothing ever changed.

In the end the medical men told his parents he would grow out of the bad dreams, and they had to be satisfied with that. On the day Jack turned sixteen, his father was badly hurt in a factory fire and died soon after. Two years later, in 1996, his mother took off to America for her new life.

Before she left, she told Jack he was to blame for his father’s early passing. ‘You’re the one who killed him,’ she ranted. ‘You knocked the stuffing out of Gordon – all that trouble from school, then the screaming in the night. There’s something wrong with you, I’m sure of it! You should be locked away.’ Soon after that, she packed up, lock, stock and barrel, and sold the family home, leaving her son with his late father’s silver tank-ards and the sum of £1,000 to make his own way in the world.

Just now, going through the past, Jack knew he had to make a decision. Things could not carry on as they were. Surely the right thing to do – both for Molly and for his own peace of mind – was to face up to his demons.

‘OK, Molly, you win,’ he decided. ‘I’ll take your advice and talk to the doctor. After all, what have I got to lose?’

He suddenly felt as though an unbearable weight had fallen from his shoulders. Besides, his GP, Dr Lennox, was a very understanding man. ‘That’s it!’ Going over to his desk drawer, Jack took out a batch of paperwork, and concentrated his mind on that. ‘Decision made!’

Chapter Two

BOWER STREET IN Blackburn was a quiet little street of ordinary homes and ordinary families. Like families everywhere, they all had their problems, but the mother and daughter at Number 20 had more than their fair share. On this fine brisk morning, Eileen Harrow was in an angry mood.

‘If I want him in my bed, that’s for me to decide – and you, my girl, should learn to mind your own business!’

The sixty-year-old woman had entertained many men in her bed these past years, and though her judgement was sadly misguided, her determination never wavered. ‘I’m sorry, Libby. I know your father did wrong by you, by going off when he did, but that’s all in the past – and if I can forgive him, why can’t you?’

While Libby frantically searched for an answer, the older woman jabbed a finger at her. ‘All right, then. Forgive him, don’t forgive him – it’s up to you. But I will not have my own daughter telling me what to do!’

‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mum. I only want you to be safe.’

‘Why can’t you forgive him?’ Eileen persisted. ‘If I’m ready to forgive him, you should be too.’ Fired up and itching for an argument, she squared up to her daughter. ‘My man is home now, and this time I want him to stay. And if you don’t like it, you can clear off out of it!’

Libby remained silent, while her mother ranted on, sadly convinced that the stranger she had brought home in the small hours was actually the husband who had deserted her many long years ago.

‘Well?’ Eileen waited, hands on hips, for an apology. ‘Do you forgive him? Is he welcome to stay?’

Libby had seen it all before. Not for the first time, she had woken up that morning to find that her mother had taken a stranger into her bed. ‘Mum, please listen to me . . .’

‘No! I’ve heard enough. Pack your bags and leave, you ungrateful girl!’

‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ Libby gently persisted. ‘I don’t want to upset you. Trust me, Mum.’

But when Eileen was in this kind of mood, it was hard to calm her. ‘I’m only trying to help. I don’t want you getting all riled up.’

‘Then stop telling me I can’t sleep with my own husband! If my blood pressure goes through the roof, it’ll be your fault, not mine.’

‘Please, Mother, you need to trust me,’ Libby pleaded. ‘You’re not well.’

‘What d’you mean, I’m not well?’ The older woman rounded on her. ‘You think I’m off my head, don’t you? You think I’m incapable of making my own decisions. Well, you just listen to me for a minute, young lady. I know you were upset when your father left us, but now he’s back – and if you’re not happy with that, then you can pack your bags and bugger off!’

‘Please, Mother, don’t be like this.’ Libby knew she must calm the older woman before it got out of hand. ‘Please hear me out.’

‘No!’

With surprising suddenness Eileen became docile. She was no longer the angry woman who had threatened to throw her daughter out of house and home. ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she said, looking bewildered. ‘What were you saying?’

Relieved that the moment had passed, Libby told her, ‘I’m about to make breakfast for us.’ She glanced cautiously up the stairs. ‘When he comes out of the bathroom, you need to send him on his way.’

Eileen followed her gaze. ‘Send who on his way?’

‘Your friend.’

‘What friend?’ Not for the first time, Eileen Harrow had somehow sneaked out of the house in the early hours, desperate to find the man who had deserted them so long ago. ‘Oh! You mean your father!’ In her fragmented mind she was young again, deliriously happy because her man was home. Clapping her hands together, she giggled like a child. ‘I told you I’d find him, and now I have. It was so dark, though. I got worried I might never see him again. But then I found him and I brought him home where he belongs.’

‘No, Mum.’ Libby’s heart sank. ‘You made a mistake. We don’t know this man. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t belong here.’ Libby hated being the one who shattered her mother’s hopes and dreams, but it was her lot in life to love and protect this darling woman. ‘I still can’t believe you managed to sneak out when I was sleeping.’ She had been extra meticulous in taking all the necessary precautions, but somehow her mother had fooled her yet again.

‘Ha!’ The older woman chuckled triumphantly. ‘I watched where you put the key.’

‘Really? Well, I shall have to be even more careful in the future.’ Libby made a mental note of it. ‘Right, Mum, we need to talk,’ she went on. ‘Once we’ve got rid of your new “friend” we’ll take a few minutes to enjoy our breakfast. After that, we’ll get you dressed and all spruced up, before Thomas runs us into town. We don’t want to keep him waiting, and besides, we want to have a good look round the shops. Last time we went out, we had to rush back for your hospital appointment. Remember you saw that lovely hat in British Home Stores? Well, if it’s still there, you can try it on and see if it suits you. It would be perfect for spring and summer outings.’

Reaching out, she took hold of her mother’s hand. ‘Would you like that?’

As with many things these past years, Eileen did not recall the hat, but she smiled at the thought. ‘Am I going somewhere special?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Do I need a new hat?’

Libby beamed at her. Sometimes her mother’s affliction reduced her to tears, but not this time, because once again she had a situation to deal with. ‘Yes,’ she answered brightly. ‘Thomas promised to take us to the park, the first really warm day we get. It’s too cold now – March winds and rain most days. But come April, we might take him up on his kind offer. So yes, you do need a new hat, and if that one suits you, it’ll be my treat.’

With her fickle mind shifting in all directions, the older woman remembered, ‘Oh, a fresh pot o’ tea, you say?’

‘That’s right.’ Libby was relieved. She went to put the kettle on.

‘And remember to put two tea-bags in it? Last time you only put in one, and it tasted like cats’ pee.’ She laughed out loud. ‘Not that I’ve ever drunk cats’ pee, but if I had, it would taste just like that tea of yours.’ She gave a shiver as though swallowing something horrible. ‘So, this time, have you done what I told you?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Two teabags, then?’

‘Yes, Mother. Two teabags, one sugar – the way you like it.’

‘I bet you didn’t warm up my cup!’

‘Yes, I did that too.’

‘Good girl. At long last, you’ve learned your lesson. You can be such a naughty child!’

Through the haze in her mind, Eileen saw a chubby six-year-old with long, fair plaits and mucky hands, instead of a shapely, pretty woman aged thirty. ‘What am I to do with you, eh?’

‘Sorry, Mother.’ Following doctors’ advice, Libby had learned how to deal with her mother’s unpredictable moods. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ Gently reaching out, she suggested in a quiet voice, ‘Come on now, Mum. Don’t let your tea go cold. You know how you hate cold tea.’

Unsure, Eileen moved back a step. ‘Too cheeky for your own good, that’s the truth of it. Drive me to distraction at times, you really do!’

‘I try not to.’ She gently wrapped her fingers about the older woman’s hand. ‘Come on, Mum.’

Eileen took a tentative step forward, only to pause again as though unsure. ‘You do realise, don’t you? I shall have to tell your father when he comes down.’

‘If you must.’

‘He’ll probably smack your legs.’ She jabbed her forefinger into Libby’s chest. ‘Oh, and don’t think I’ll stop him this time, because you deserve a smack!’

‘I expect I do.’

There followed a quiet moment, during which the older woman took stock of the situation, her kindly gaze holding her daughter’s attention. ‘Perhaps I won’t tell him,’ she confided in a whisper, ‘because he can get nasty when he has to give you a telling-off.’ Her face softened. ‘Yet he loves you, Libby. We both do.’

Choking back the tears, Libby told her, ‘And I love you, Mum . . . so very much.’

Libby had small recollection of her father, who had gone away when she was still a little girl. Like a fast-fading picture in her mind, she saw a big man with blue eyes, dark hair and quiet manner; a man with a beguiling Irish accent who came home from work and went upstairs to change before the evening meal. Most times when the meal was over, he would go out – returning much later when she and her mother were in bed. Occasionally she recalled the odd, brief cuddle, but that was all. There was no memory of closeness or laughter. There were no night time prayers or bedtime stories from Ian Harrow. There was a quiet sadness about her mother then, and in the years following his desertion of them, that made Libby feel guilty, even when she had not misbehaved.

At school she was a bit of a loner. She did have one good friend, though. Kit Saunders was in the same class as her. They laughed and played, and their friendship lifted her spirit, but when the bell rang for home-time, a great loneliness came over her. Kit’s dad worked shifts and was always waiting at the gates for his beloved daughter. Kit and her parents did fun things together. Sometimes they took their daughter to the summer fair and one year, they invited Libby to go with them. Kit’s father won his daughter a big teddy-bear on the coconut-shy. The kind girl asked him to win one for Libby, and he did his best. It was a much smaller one, but the little bear had the funniest face, and Libby was thrilled. Oh, how she loved him!

During the day, George the bear (named after Boy George, her favourite pop star) sat on Libby’s bed, and at night he came under the sheets and together they cuddled up to sleep. He was her friend and to this day, George still sat on her bed, waiting for his cuddle.

Sadly though, Kit’s family moved away and Libby lost touch with them.

The truth was, Libby never really knew her father. Her mother adored him, though. Apparently, during their marriage, Ian Harrow chose countless women over his wife. He had many affairs and once or twice even left her, but he always came back. Until the last time.

Even then, her mother continued to love him; every day and well into the night, she watched for him through the window, and afterwards cried herself to sleep. After a while, she became forgetful; she began to lose direction. If it hadn’t been for Libby coming home from school and clearing up, the house would have been buried in filth. It was only a matter of time before Eileen’s health really began to deteriorate, and after a while it really did seem that she didn’t care whether she lived or died.

It was a cruel, heartless thing he did, deserting them. Over the years, Libby often wondered if that was why she had shut him from her mind. In a way, because of him – and because her mother increasingly withdrew into her own little world – Libby’s childhood ended the day her father abandoned them.

Eileen Harrow’s breakdown happened gradually, without her daughter even noticing. At night, when Libby lay half awake in her bed, she could hear her mother sobbing, calling out, asking why he had wanted to leave her; asking if it was her fault. Had she let him down somehow? Had she not loved him enough, or not shown it enough? And was he really never coming home? It was that which she found hardest to accept.

Libby’s grandmother would come up on the coach from Manchester and stay for a time, but then she began to buckle under the strain, and her visits grew less frequent. Still grieving after the loss of her own husband, Arthur, she eventually stopped coming altogether, and died in 1992, aged seventy-three.

Libby’s grandparents on her father’s side didn’t want to know them. They claimed it was Eileen’s fault that he had strayed and they could not forgive her. They thought she should have done more to keep him happy at home. The letter they wrote was very harsh. Soon after the event, they returned to their native Ireland.

When Eileen became too confused to be left on her own, Libby quit her job as a teaching assistant and began working part-time at the local supermarket, Aston’s. Thanks to their very good neighbour, the widower Thomas Farraday, Eileen was looked after, and even occasionally taken out for drives and for walks in the park.

Unfortunately, Thomas then suffered a health scare, and Libby was obliged to give up work altogether, in order to take care of her mother. That was five years ago, and now, her mother was her life. Thankfully, Thomas regained his health, and for that Libby was immensely grateful. It meant she could do a couple of hours each morning at the supermarket and get out of the house for a while.

Eileen continued to believe that her husband Ian would come home. But he never did, and Libby never forgave him, as her mother’s mental health worsened.

‘Hey!’ Eileen’s angry voice shattered Libby’s thoughts. ‘Did you hear what I just told you?’

‘Sorry, Mum. What was it you said?’

‘I said you’re not such a bad child after all,’ Eileen replied sharply. ‘You’re just a bit mischievous at times. So I’ve decided I won’t tell your father. At least not this time!’

Familiar with her mother’s mood swings, Libby kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘You must never do it again, though. Or I will tell him, I really will. And then there’ll be ructions.’

‘Oh, quick! Here he comes.’ Libby drew her mother’s attention to the figure coming down the stairs. Libby had never before seen the man – a scruffy, tousle-haired individual in his late fifties. ‘Let me do the talking, Mother.’

‘What’s going on ’ere?’ The man smiled from one to the other. ‘You two ’aving a bit of a barney, are yer?’ He was quick to sense the atmosphere, and equally quick to realise that the younger, pretty woman was not best pleased to see him there. Well, sod her, he thought, and sod anybody else who didn’t take to him. He had a living to earn just like other folks, and he would earn it in any way he could, good or bad.