Born Bad. Josephine Cox

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      Tom was amazed. ‘Does she know I got my feet wet in the stream?’

      Harry smiled. ‘Maybe she does, yes.’

      ‘When we go back to the car, will she come with us?’

      ‘I don’t know, son.’

      Tears were inevitable as they tumbled down the boy’s face. ‘I want my Mammy … I want her now!’

      Grabbing the boy into his arms, Harry pacified him. ‘Hush now. I want her too, but we can’t have her back, except in our hearts and minds. That’s something, isn’t it, Tom? That really is … something.’

      Sensing his father’s desolation, the boy wrapped his arms round his neck. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

      ‘I’m sorry too, son.’ Brushing back the boy’s brown hair, he put his hand under his chin and lifted Tom’s face to him. ‘I love you, Tom. I’ll take good care of you, just like Mammy wanted.’

      After a while he led the boy by the hand and together they walked back across the field and over the bridge. ‘We’d best make tracks.’ He didn’t want it to be dark when they got there. ‘Kathleen will be wondering where we are.’ It was so long since he’d seen that kindly soul, he had almost forgotten what she looked like.

      ‘What if she doesn’t like me?’ Tom began to fret again.

      Harry gave the boy a loving glance, observing the eager eyes and the endless mop of brown hair, and the little face that could never be described as handsome, but was honest and giving. In that moment, he saw the mother in the child, and the pride was like a flame burning his chest.

      ‘Will you stop worrying!’ he said fondly. ‘She’ll love you to bits!’

      ‘She’s not my mammy though.’ A familiar little frown crumpled the boy’s forehead. ‘You have to tell her.’

      ‘I will, of course I will, but she already knows that. Look, son, trust me. Kathleen would never try to take your mammy’s place. But she is a kind and wonderful person who is sure to want your happiness, every bit as much as I do.’

      ‘Is she young and pretty, like Mammy?’

      Harry shook his head. ‘No, she’s not young. But as I recall, she did have a pretty face … kind of warm and smiley.’

      ‘Is she very old?’

      He laughed. ‘Old enough, I suppose.’

      ‘Grandad was old, wasn’t he?’

      ‘I don’t know that he would have agreed, but yes, I dare say he was.’

      ‘Are you old, Daddy?’

      Harry thought on that for a moment. ‘Well, thirty-six isn’t really meant to be old,’ he had been shaken by the realisation of how short life could be, ‘but yes, today, I do feel old.’

      ‘Am I old?’

      Harry laughed at his innocence. ‘God, yes! You’re as old as Methuselah.’

      ‘Who’s Musoothella?’

      Chuckling, Harry settled the boy into the back of the car. ‘He was a very wise person.’

      ‘Am I a wise person?’

      His father gazed on him tenderly for a moment. ‘You know what?’

      ‘What?’

      Harry gave a wistful smile. ‘I think you’re probably the wisest person in the whole wide world.’

      ‘Wise as Kathleen?’

      ‘Well, nobody’s as wise as Kathleen, but near enough, I reckon.’

      Harry gave an involuntary shiver. Today had been a typical late-summer day, with long spells of bright sunshine and a warm, gentle breeze. Now though, with the onset of evening, the clouds hung menacingly low, and there was a sudden nip in the air. ‘We might just get there before dark,’ he muttered, covering Tom with the tartan travelling rug and pressing Loppy into his arms.

      He then gazed back a moment to where they had been. Only the fleetest of moments, but he held it safe in his mind for all time.

      Quickly now, he climbed into the driving seat and glanced in the mirror, to see the boy’s head lolling to one side. ‘That’s right, son,’ he murmured. ‘You get some sleep.’

      Before starting the engine he glanced at the sleepy boy, ‘Aw, child! You give me so much joy … and I have nothing to give you in return.’

      Driving away, he wondered what lay in store for them both. In the wake of recent events, he had made a hasty decision. Now with every mile that took them closer, the doubts grew stronger.

      He had been a youth of eighteen when he left Fisher’s Hill. He didn’t altogether leave because he wanted to; war was in the air, and joining up seemed like the right thing at the time. He had left his home under a cloud, trailing with him a deal of heartache and regrets, with the intention of returning.

      In the eighteen years between, he had never forgotten the place that he loved so much. He moved away, travelling far and wide, and eventually settled after the war in Weymouth, with his new sweetheart, Sara, but Fisher’s Hill and Judy remained a part of him, with the bad memories always overshadowing the good.

      Even now, it was hard to believe that he was just a heartbeat away from Fisher’s Hill.

      When he had first contacted Kathleen after Sara’s funeral, he was amazed and reassured to find that she was still alive, still the same lovely, homely person, and that she would welcome him and young Tom with open arms.

      In his grief, he had needed something familiar and comforting, and it did his heart good just to see her familiar handwriting.

      How many of his old mates might still be living there? He was thinking especially of Phil Saunders. Had he stayed? Had any of them gone back after the war – if they got through intact – and if they had, would they welcome him with open arms, or would they reject him, as he had rejected them all those years ago …

      And what of his old sweetheart, Judy? Was she still there? Had she met someone – and if so, were they happy, or like himself, had she been badly scarred by what happened back then? He hoped not. Oh, he truly hoped not.

      Aching with regrets, he slowed the car into the side of the road, where he remained for what seemed an age; thinking, remembering. Hurting all over again.

      ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ Opening his eyes, Tom peered at him through the mirror.

      ‘Nothing’s wrong, son.’

      ‘Why aren’t we moving?’

      ‘I just need a minute,’ he replied. ‘A minute, that’s all … to get my thoughts together.’

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