Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 1: Midnight, Blood Brothers, Songbird. Josephine Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ thought about that and was surprised at his own feelings. ‘Yes, I did, she was a wonderful companion. She always had time for me. Sometimes, after Eileen had gone to bed, me and Libby would sit and talk for hours when we were teenagers.’

      ‘And how was your mother coping with the tragic loss of your father?’

      Jack’s mood darkened. ‘She was never the same after dad died. She took on extra shifts at the hotel where she worked, and she started to go out with different men. I can understand it, now I’m older – she must have been lonely. She and I barely had a conversation. I planned to go to university and worked hard at school, but Mum didn’t seem to care about my plans one way or another. She met an American bloke called John Towner or Tooner, I can’t quite recall because she only said his name once, when she introduced us. I was not all that interested. Anyway, it wasn’t too long before she went off with him. That was when the idea of university took a back seat, because I found myself out on the street and had to take responsibility for my own welfare.

      ‘Were there no relatives you could go to?’ asked Mr Howard.

      ‘No. I knew I could have had a home with Eileen and Libby, or with another neighbour Thomas Farraday, but it was too close to where I used to live with my parents. Two weeks before I finished school, our house was sold and I left Blackburn for good. I couldn’t get away quickly enough. I was worried though, about the future. I wasn’t really sure about anything, and in the end I came away in such a hurry I left without saying goodbye to anyone. I came south, found a job and gradually made something of myself.’

      He shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s my life in a nutshell. Nothing special. Nothing more to tell.’

      ‘Oh, I think there’s a lot more to tell.’ Alan Howard had been making notes all the time Jack was speaking. Pushing them aside, he said, ‘That’s plenty of background for me to be going on with.’ He wondered whether maternal deprivation was behind Jack’s condition. Certainly his mother’s indifference to his welfare and emotional well being could have completely undermined his true state of mind. Only time and gentle questioning would reveal the truth.

      ‘Now, I’d like to spend a few moments looking at the dreams that trouble you. Are you all right with that?’

      Jack’s heart began to race. ‘Yes,’ he said.

      ‘I can’t say how long this first session will last,’ said Howard. ‘It all depends on whether you want to go on, or whether I feel it’s time to bring it to an end, for whatever reason.’

      Jack voiced his fears: ‘What if I get . . .’ Reluctant to say the word, he came to a halt.

      ‘Yes, Jack?’ A quiet prompting was enough.

      ‘What if I get . . . trapped?’ He imagined himself alone and enclosed in that terrible place.

      ‘I won’t let you get trapped. That’s why you’re here – to bring you out of that prison and set you free. To understand exactly what’s happening to you, because once we understand, we can deal with it, you and me – together. Now I’d like you to just relax . . . it might help to close your eyes . . .’

      While Jack settled more comfortably into the chair, Alan Howard spoke softly, slowly, deliberately lulling his patient into another place; a place where he might confide his fears.

      ‘Jack?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Why did you seek my help?’ Reaching across the desk, the psychiatrist switched on the recording machine.

      Feeling safe in this man’s calming presence, Jack told him, ‘I have these nightmares. I’ve always had them. They frighten me.’

      ‘Are the nightmares always the same?’

      ‘Always. Sometimes in the day, I can’t get them out of my head. Other times, I make myself shut them out. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to think. I wouldn’t be able to do my work.’ He paused, a feeling of dread creeping over him like a dark, suffocating cloud. He continued in a low voice, ‘Sometimes, I think they might drive me crazy.’

      ‘You say you’ve had them for as long as you can remember?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Can you recall exactly when they started?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘When you were at school, did you have them then?’ He was trying to pinpoint the age at which Jack’s nightmares began.

      Jack’s breathing quickened. He would never forget the awful times at school, when he was afraid of everything and everyone. Sometimes, when the other children were pointing at him and whispering behind his back, he hid in the toilets.

      ‘Jack?’

      Jack wasn’t listening. The memories and the images were too strong. He felt himself being drawn back. There were no voices here. Only the silence, and . . . something else, something bad. He knew it was there, but he didn’t know what it was.

      ‘Jack, can you hear me?’ Mr Howard was aware that Jack was sinking deep into the past, but that was a good thing. Glancing at Dr Lennox, who was content just to listen and learn, he gave a little nod, as though to reassure him that everything was going well.

      When Lennox acknowledged this with a discreet smile, Howard returned his full attention to Jack.

      ‘Are you ready to talk with me, Jack?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Did you tell your teachers about the dreams?’

      There was a tense moment, and then Jack’s voice, firm and decisive: ‘No! I never told them anything.’ He remembered something, though. ‘Once, when we had a drawing lesson, I made a picture of my nightmare. The teacher was angry with me. She made me stand up in class, while she showed my picture to the other children. She said my picture was nonsense, that I had not been listening to her, and that I would have to stay behind and draw another picture – one that made sense. The other children teased me about that – but not Libby. She was my friend.

      ‘Jack?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘What else did your teacher say about the drawing?’

      ‘She said I had bad things in my head. She tore the drawing up, and the children laughed at me.’

      ‘So . . . the teacher asked you to draw a particular thing, and you drew your nightmare instead. Why did you do that, Jack? Were you really asking for her help, do you think?’

      ‘I wanted her to see, that’s all. But she called my mother in and made a big fuss.’ As he went deeper into the past, Jack’s voice became more childlike.

      ‘In what way did she make a fuss?’

      ‘She said the drawing was disturbing, and that I was disobedient.’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘I think my drawing frightened her.’

      ‘And what did your mother say?’

      ‘She said I ought to listen СКАЧАТЬ