Born Bad. Josephine Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ Tom from his shoulders, he ran forward. ‘Sara! … Oh dear God … my SARA!’ But Sara was gone from this world, and when he took her in his arms, he knew her pain was over.

      Passionately, he folded her to his heart, remembering the words she had said only minutes ago. ‘This is the best day of my life.’ But it was small consolation. Sara had left them behind, and he was devastated.

      Instinctively, Harry caught his son to him, and together they held her – until a passing couple came to their aid.

      When he thought about it later, Harry could never remember covering those last few paces to Sara. He recalled the very moment when he realised something was wrong. He felt the weight of his son on his shoulders, and he remembered swinging Tom to the ground.

      But that was all; until he had Sara in his arms.

      Too young, too vibrant, she had lost her fight to live.

      She was at peace now; and in that agonising time when he held her, Harry thought she was more beautiful than he could ever remember.

      

      The following week in the pretty church overlooking the shoreline, there were many tears at Sara’s untimely departure and great joy at having known her as Harry and little Tom, proud and broken, led the congregation outside, to the well-tended, colourful garden. There on the bank on a glorious August day, they laid her to rest, facing the view she had always loved.

      There followed a well-set-out tea in Sara’s cosy home, where the neighbours had pulled together and taken charge.

      Afterwards, when everyone was gone, Harry spoke with his son. ‘Your mammy is safe now,’ he promised him gently. ‘Someone very special is looking after her now.’

      Tom flung his arms round his daddy and sobbed until it seemed he would never stop. After a time, he fell asleep in Harry’s arms, whereupon with great tenderness, his father carried him to the couch and covered him over.

      With those tiny arms around his neck, Harry had felt the unforgiving burden of grief like never before.

      Looking down now on that small, innocent face so much like his mammy’s, Harry’s heart turned over. ‘Look out for us, my darling,’ he wept, and glanced towards the window as though talking to some unseen person. ‘Help me to make the right decisions.’

      

      On the last day of August, Harry and his son stood at the door of their home and watched their furniture being loaded up. ‘Have you kept back everything you need, son?’ Harry wanted the boy to be sure.

      Tom held up the raggedy lop-eared dog. ‘I’ve got Loppy,’ he said, and gave the shadow of a smile.

      ‘Are you sure he’s all you want to take with you?’

      The boy confirmed this with a nod.

      ‘It’s your last chance, Tom. If there’s anything else you need, you have to say so now, before the wagon leaves.’

      ‘I only need Loppy.’

      ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

      Striding down the drive, Harry spoke with the burly driver. ‘You can take it away now,’ he instructed. ‘Oh, and you won’t forget, will you,’ he pointed to a large tea-chest marked Personal, ‘that that one does not go in the sale. It goes into storage.’

      The driver perused his clipboard. ‘I’ve got it all written down, sir. Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of.’

      ‘And you’ve got the forwarding address for the documents and such?’

      The driver tapped his clipboard. ‘Like I say, it’s all written down here.’

      ‘Good.’ Taking his wallet from his back pocket, Harry slipped the driver two pound notes. ‘Thanks. You and your mate have done a good job.’

      The driver stuffed the notes in his pocket. ‘Much appreciated, sir.’

      ‘You will be careful with it all, won’t you? I mean, try not to damage anything?’ Buried under cardboard boxes, he could see the well-worn armchair that both he and Sara had sat on many times; in particular he recalled the evening when she had perched on his knee in that very chair and told him she was expecting their first – and now only – child.

      ‘We’ll treat your belongings with respect, sir.’ At the onset of this job, the driver had been acquainted with Harry’s circumstances, causing him to be grateful for his own happy marriage and five healthy children.

      Harry thanked him before, with heavy heart, he turned away.

      

      Having gone from room to room, satisfying himself that everything was locked and secure, Harry got Tom and the suitcases into the car and drove straight to the churchyard.

      The gardener, Roland Sparrow, was waiting in the porch; pencil-thin and whisky-faced, he gave a nervous cough as Harry approached. ‘I’ve not been waiting too long, Mr Blake,’ he preempted Harry’s question. ‘Five minutes at most.’

      Taking off his flat cap, he then addressed him with a mood of respect. ‘Might I say before we start, the boss informed me of your loss, and if you don’t mind, I would very much like to offer my condolences.’

      Harry acknowledged his concern. ‘Thank you, Mr Sparrow, that’s very kind.’ Quickly changing the subject, he asked, ‘Did you bring the copy of instructions I left at your office?’

      ‘I have them here,’ came the answer. ‘Very thorough they are too. Most folks either don’t know how, or don’t bother, to take the time and trouble drawing plans and naming flowers, but you’ve done it all, and it makes my job that much easier, if I may say so.’

      ‘And are you comfortable with everything?’ Harry had taken a long time, thinking about what Sara would have wanted.

      ‘I have, and what’s more I think it’ll turn out to be the prettiest little garden in the churchyard. Keeping the place beautiful, it’s what I do.’

      Looking down his glasses, which were precariously perched at the end of his narrow nose, he read from Harry’s list. ‘Let’s see now … the planting of different coloured heathers for autumn and winter; daffodil and tulip bulbs all around the border for spring, and a girdle of low-growing pink and blue perennials for the summertime.

      ‘By! It’ll be well pretty! Oh, and just think of the perfumes in the summertime!’ His voice adopted a reverent tone again. ‘I understand you’ve chosen a black marble cross, with two inbuilt flower vases?’

      Harry confirmed it with a nod.

      ‘Well, I can tell you now, the vases will be filled every two weeks with seasonal flowers, and they’ll be regularly topped up with water ’cause that’s what I do.’

      ‘So, I can count on you, then?’ Harry needed reassuring.

      Mr Sparrow beamed with pride. ‘I shall tend your lady’s garden with great care, you can depend on it.’

      Harry СКАЧАТЬ