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

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СКАЧАТЬ for all his scruffy appearance, she thought he seemed well-mannered and amiable, if somewhat uncomfortable around people.

      ‘I’d like the biggest mug of coffee you do,’ he requested, in a Northern accent. ‘Oh, and a thick bacon buttie, with lashings of bacon, please.’ The very idea made his mouth water; it was a long time since he’d had the taste of a good, genuine bacon buttie.

      ‘I’m afraid we don’t do bacon sandwiches, but I can offer you a ham and tomato roll.’ And when he nodded, abashed, she said, more kindly, ‘I’ll make that two, shall I, sir?’

      While she went to get his order, Davie made himself comfortable, determined to enjoy his moment of luxury and to savour the beauty of this idyllic scene. There would be time enough to go in search of the address Eli had given him. Meanwhile, he would sit and think, and make his plans for the future – though what his future might be, was anyone’s guess.

      He relished his snack to the full. Afterwards, satisfied and content, he ordered another cup of coffee and sat with it for a good half-hour, enjoying the treat; until finally he felt the urge to continue his search for Eli’s friend.

      At the counter he fished the relevant coins out of his pocket and paid his dues, even leaving a sixpence tip for the waitress. ‘Thank you.’ She actually smiled on him as he went.

      Whether it was the sixpence that made her smile, or the sight of him leaving, the youth couldn’t be certain.

      Once outside and away from watchful eyes, Davie retrieved the slim wooden box from his duffel bag and took out the piece of paper with the name and address on it given to him by Eli. He found the older man’s scrawl difficult to decipher:

      Mr Edward Baker

      Greenacres Farm

      Goldington, BEDS

      There were no further directions and no telephone number. ‘Good God, Eli!’ Davie said aloud. ‘You could have drawn me a little map, or given me a list of directions to help me on my way.’

      He stopped to ask passers-by, and it seemed no one knew the whereabouts of Greenacres Farm. ‘Why not go to the bus depot and ask at the counter there,’ suggested one helpful old dear. ‘If anybody knows where it is, they’ll be the ones.’

      Following her excellent advice, he queued up at the ticket-counter of the bus and coach depot. ‘I’m looking for a place called Greenacres Farm,’ Davie explained hopefully. ‘It’s near here, somewhere around Goldington.’

      The clerk knew of it. ‘You’ll need a number fourteen bus,’ he told Davie. ‘It won’t take you to the door, but the driver will drop you off on the main street, then it’s a walk along the lanes to the farm.’

      Thanking him, Davie made his way across the boulevard, where he boarded a number 14 bus headed for Cambridge. He explained to the conductor where he needed to get off. ‘You’re on the right bus,’ came the reply, ‘but you’ll have to walk three miles or so once we’ve dropped you off.’

      Seeming to have no choice, Davie settled himself into a seat, where he was quickly joined by a small boy. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked of Davie.

      Davie looked around, and seeing how the woman behind was appearing to keep an alert eye on the child, he enquired of her, ‘Is it yours?’

      ‘Not exactly.’ She appeared to be amused by Davie’s description of the boy. ‘I’m just looking after “it” while my daughter works the morning shift,’ she answered with a smile.

      Davie nodded. ‘Friendly young feller-me-lad, isn’t he?’

      ‘Is he troubling you?’

      Davie would have preferred to answer yes. But when at that moment he looked down to see the little face uplifted in a cheeky grin, his heart melted. ‘No, of course not,’ he answered. ‘He’s no trouble at all.’

      Satisfied, the woman sank back in her seat and left Davie to the chatter of her grandchild. After Davie was made to answer umpteen questions, about his destination, and why he was on the bus, and where his mum was, the child grew increasingly fidgety. ‘Are you all right?’ Davie thought the child was feeling travel sick.

      ‘Have you got a hankie?’ The little boy held out his hand.

      Davie shook his head. ‘No. Sorry, I haven’t.’

      ‘I need a hankie.’

      Davie fished about in his pocket and as he thought, there was no hankie to be found, and behind him, the woman appeared to have nodded off. ‘Got a cold, have you?’ he asked the child.

      ‘No.’

      ‘So, why do you need a hankie?’

      Lowering his voice, he made a face. ‘I think I’ve plopped in my pants.’ To Davie’s horror, he gabbled proudly on, ‘I plopped in them before … when Grandma took me to the pictures. She said I was a dirty little hound and gave me a smack.’

      Horrified, Davie inched aside, his nose wrinkled in anticipation. ‘You haven’t plopped now, have you?’

      Wriggling and squirming, the boy dutifully felt the crutch of his trousers, his face crumpling as he looked up at Davie. ‘Dirty hound,’ he groaned. ‘Dirty little hound.’ The crying started as a kind of whining, which quickly soared to the pitch of hysteria. ‘Want my grandma!’

      ‘You little bugger!’ Mortified, his grandma reached out, and grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, she hoisted him over the seat towards her. ‘What did I tell you, eh?’ Her voice sailed down the bus. ‘Didn’t I say, if you needed the toilet you were to ask me before we got on the bus – and now you’ve been and done a packet in your new trousers, you dirty little hound. Well, you can sit in it now, until we get home. And I hope it teaches you a lesson you won’t forget!’

      None of the passengers would ever forget it either, especially Davie, who got the full stench of the suspect ‘packet’ in the boy’s trousers.

      Relieved when they reached his stop, Davie scrambled off the bus. ‘Which way to Greenacres Farm?’ he asked the conductor before they set off again.

      ‘Go left from here … down the lanes about three mile or so. The farm is on your left. You can’t miss it.’

      Davie thanked him and turned away. The end of his long journey from Blackpool to Bedford was finally within reach.

      ‘Bye, bye, man!’ The boy’s cheery voice sailed after him.

      ‘Bye, bye.’ From a safe distance he turned and waved, chuckling heartily as he went. He hoped the little chap was not too uncomfortable.

      Davie pushed on towards Greenacres Farm, in no particular hurry now his destination was so close. Instead he sauntered, pausing every now and then to take in what was all around him. The grass verges were alive with all manner of wild flowers, and above him the birds sang and courted, and in every field there was much to see; the cows and sheep, and the occasional fox that slunk its way along the hedgerows, and just there, skirting the stream, was a moor hen with its babies trailing behind.

      He wondered what Ted Baker was like, and СКАЧАТЬ