Journey’s End. Josephine Cox

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      ‘I don’t know. I ran as far away as I could … went back to sea for many a long year. When war broke out I was over in Canada – went to work in a logging camp for the duration. Didn’t see why I should get a bullet in the arse from Hitler while I could avoid it.’

      The other prisoner, who had been too young to fight, didn’t think much of this attitude, having lost an elder brother and an uncle, both soldiers, in the war. However, he wisely kept silent, although something of his feelings came over when he asked: ‘So, they didn’t put you away then?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘And you got away with it?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And the other one?’

      ‘What other one?’

      ‘The one that stole from you.’

      ‘I was clever. After I’d killed him, I put him where he’d never be found. He was a nobody, a thief and vagabond; it was easy enough to take on his name. I made sure I stayed away long enough to build up my new identity.’ Arrogant as ever he went on, ‘Twenty year and more, I managed to stay out o’ the limelight, then one night on shore leave in Liverpool I got drunk and picked a fight which ended up nasty, and got me sent down.’

      ‘Is Edward Carter your real name?’

      A moment, then: ‘More questions, eh, Scotty?’ Trent grew cautious. ‘Sounds to me like I’ve said more than enough.’

      ‘You’re a lucky man. By rights you should have been hung from the neck for what you did.’

      With amazing agility that belied his age, the big man swung himself down from the bunk, caught the young fella by the shirt-collar and yanked him to his feet. ‘You should be honoured,’ Trent growled. ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever confided in. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe you know too much for your own good.’

      Tightening his grip, he drew the younger man closer still. ‘Have I made a big mistake? For all I know, you might be the sort who would like to make a few bob out of what I’ve told you. Are you? Are you the gabby sort?’

      Eyes wide with fear, the young man assured him, ‘You know I’d never do a thing like that. I’d have to be some kind of a fool! I value my legs too much. I wouldn’t want to be left crippled or worse, just ’cause I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.’

      The big man hissed, ‘What do you know about me?’

      ‘Not a thing! Not a single thing!’

      ‘Very wise.’ Flinging him aside, Trent hoisted himself back on his bunk. A moment later the cigarette end was thrown down to the other prisoner. ‘I often wonder about her.’

      ‘Who?’ Thankful to still have the use of his legs and another couple of draws into the bargain, the young man was still shaking.

      ‘Lucy Baker. She was the most exciting woman you could ever meet. She wasn’t what you might call a beauty – not dazzling or glamorous or anything like that.’

      ‘If she wasnae glamorous or beautiful, what attracted you to her?’

      ‘Lucy was different somehow, hard to forget. She was childlike – pure and innocent, but mischievous, too. She was more alive than any other woman I’ve ever met. Her smile was more radiant than a summer’s day, and when she laughed it turned your heart over. She was small and homely, with eyes that sang. They kinda latched onto you and wouldn’t let go.’

      ‘What happened to her?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ He dreamed of her. ‘She’s older now, like me. I often wonder if she still has that magical quality, or whether she’s all shrivelled and ugly. I’ve taken good care of myself over the years, but I can’t tell what she looks like. I’ve still got this image in my mind … might be a shame to spoil it with the real thing.’ He gave a wry little laugh. ‘I daresay I’d be shocked if I were to see her now.’

      ‘Have you ever been back … to that place?’

      ‘No. I want to, though. I’ve always wanted to, only I might stir it all up. There was a bloke, Barney Davidson his name was. Likely as not if he saw me, he’d come after me. From what I recall, he wasn’t a big man, but he had this bull-like strength about him. There’s bound to be trouble. I don’t know if I should risk being carted off and strung up for what happened that night.’

      ‘So, you won’t ever go back there then?’

      The big man gave a gruff laugh. ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I just might decide to go there and find out if she’s still around. First though, I have to keep my nose clean and get out of here.’ He hung over the end of the bunk. ‘But don’t think I won’t seek you out, if ever you open your mouth about what you heard here tonight.’

      The young man handed back the tab end of the cigarette. ‘I might be bold and reckless at times – it’s what got me here in the first place. But I’m not wrong in the head. Your secret’s safe with me, so you needn’t worry.’

      His cellmate gave a soft, sinister laugh. ‘I don’t intend to,’ he replied confidently. ‘I’d rather let you do the worrying.’

      Long into the early hours, the young man lay awake to consider his companion’s veiled warning. There was no doubt in his mind; if he ever talked of what was discussed this night, he would be made to pay a terrible price.

      All the same he was intrigued by what he’d heard of the child and the woman; and how, even now after all this time, the big man was still besotted with her. This Lucy: she sounded like the woman every man needed in his life – not glamorous enough to attract other men, but with a special inner beauty that shone out.

      What was she doing now? What did she look like? Was she shrivelled and ugly as Carter feared, or was she still the same magical person she had always been? Most of all, what were her feelings towards him? After all, indirectly or not, he had murdered her child.

      One thing was certain. It was only the fear of capture for what he had done that had kept Carter away all this time.

      Glancing up to make sure his cellmate was asleep, the Scotsman mulled over the story he’d been told. He muttered softly as though talking to Lucy direct, ‘Seems to me, the madman still has a craving for you.’

      Closing his eyes, he made the sign of the cross on himself. ‘God help you, lady. I’ve got a feeling you’re not rid of him yet!’

       Chapter 5

      ‘DO YOU WANT to help?’ Emerging from the barn at Far Crest Farm, Ben made his way over to Mary, who was leaning on the fence. ‘Look what I’ve found.’ Holding out a pair of wellies he told her, ‘They’re a bit big, but I’m sure you’ll manage.’

      With his brown cords tucked into his own wellingtons and wearing a woolly polo-neck jumper under his knee-length coat, she thought he looked every inch the farmer. ‘What? You want me to help round up the СКАЧАТЬ