Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

A brief uplift of the eyebrows spoke volumes.

      Turning to Marie, she asked in a softer voice, ‘Are you the mother?’

      Marie took a pace forward. ‘That’s right, and I’m proud of it.’ She wasn’t altogether sure what to make of their new neighbour.

      ‘You’ve a good lass here.’

      ‘I know that, but thank you anyway.’

      ‘She’s wasted in this shop.’

      ‘I know that as well, and though she’s everything you said, she is also stubborn and determined. When she makes up her mind there’s no reasoning with her.’

      The woman laughed out loud. ‘A girl after my own heart. I dare say you’ll miss her when some man comes and snatches her away, and they will. You mark my words. There aren’t many decent young women left, but this one seems a good ’un.’ In harsher voice she finished, ‘There are some bad buggers out there, I can tell you!’

      Amy thought she sounded as though she’d met a few. ‘I’m sure there are,’ she agreed, ‘but you’ll not find them round these parts.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Giving them each a wary glance the newcomer declared firmly, ‘I think I’ve said enough.’

      Taking Johnny by the hand she opened the door and was going through it when she felt a tug. Looking down, she saw how the boy was turning back to smile at Amy.

      ‘Bye, Johnny.’ She gave him an affectionate, mischievous wink.

      Returning Amy’s smile, the woman nodded appreciatively. ‘Thank you.’

      When they were gone, Marie stepped forward. ‘The lad seemed to have taken a shine to you,’ she said. ‘He’s such a quiet, nervous little thing … hardly said a word. Is he backward, do you think?’

      Amy shook her head. ‘No.’ She had thought that herself at first but now she knew different. ‘I just think he’s shy and he doesn’t know how to deal with people around him.’

      Marie tutted. ‘She’s a strange one, though.’

      Amy had to disagree. ‘I think she’s just frightened.’

      ‘Frightened of what?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ Amy couldn’t quite put her finger on it. ‘Did Alice mention anything about a man being with them when they arrived?’

      ‘No. There was no mention of any man.’

      ‘So where is he then? I mean, there must be a man somewhere … a husband. The boy must have a father. So, why isn’t he with them?’

      ‘Happen she’s a widow. Or they’re split up, lass. We know it happens.’

      Amy was made to think of Daisy’s parents, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether it might be better for a warring couple like that to go their separate ways.

      ‘It does seem an odd thing, though – woman and child, moving into a house with apparently nothing to call their own, and no man in sight. So, where have they come from? Why haven’t they got anything of any value?’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Mam?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Do you think they’re on the run?’

      Marie chuckled. ‘By! What an imagination you’ve got. Why in God’s name should they be “on the run”?’

      ‘I don’t know, but I reckon there’s something wrong.’ For both their sakes, Amy hoped they weren’t in any kind of trouble.

      Marie ended the conversation. ‘Didn’t you say Daisy was coming round?’

      ‘Oh, yes!’ Her mind taken up with the woman and boy, Amy had almost forgotten. ‘She promised to help sew up my new curtains.’

      ‘And I’ve the dinner to get on. Your father’s home tonight and he’ll be dying of starvation. So now then, my girl, put our new neighbours out of your mind, ’cos we’ve work to do.’ Marie observed the half-empty shelves. ‘We’d best get the shelves restocked and call it a day.’

      And that was what they did; although, as much as she tried hard to forget them, Amy’s thoughts kept coming back to the woman and child.

       There was something about them that troubled her.

      May was such a beautiful time of year, Luke thought as he drove out to his cabin. The leaves on the trees were bright green and tender, and the blackbirds were singing extra loudly. The glorious sunshine softened the rugged landscape of the fells to the north of Blackburn so that the countryside seemed to be welcoming him with a broad smile.

      Above the track to the cabin the canopy of trees was not yet thick enough to exclude the sun, and its beams slanted like spotlights across the track. A large rabbit ran ahead of the car, then bounded off into the undergrowth with a flash of white scut. Soft-furred baby rabbits grazed the shorter grass beside the track with intense concentration, ignoring Luke’s car.

      The winter mustiness of the cabin had almost vanished with the late spring sun, and when Luke arrived he immediately threw all the windows wide to take advantage of the warm fresh air and today’s exceptional light. This was a day for painting, and he’d come to the cabin especially early, forgoing the attractions of Tooley’s Cafe. He aimed to finish Amy’s portrait before he returned to Blackburn, having progressed only slowly over winter, with the poor light.

      He’d laid a fire in the grate before he left last week, and now he put a match to it. Then he went straight to the wardrobe for the covered canvas, and the easel, which he set up by a window.

      As usual, he didn’t uncover the painting immediately, but held it, still wrapped, while he thought of Amy, as he had seen her last Tuesday at Tooley’s.

      She was looking happier these days, more confident somehow, and this complemented her gentleness. Unlike her friend Daisy, Amy was not bold and brassy, and Luke found that sweetness very appealing. He concentrated on her face as he remembered it, trying to distil that exact slight element of bright assurance she’d developed. Then he unwrapped the canvas and set it on the easel.

      Yes, yes … he’d almost captured it. A little lift at the corner of her mouth, maybe …

      He gazed at the portrait for several minutes until he realised he was no longer looking with critical faculties, but rather with adoration. Oh God, she was gorgeous. If only the picture were really Amy, and not merely her likeness. Mad thought, but then Tuesdays were for dreams, however farfetched, and Luke allowed himself this indulgence increasingly now that the portrait was almost finished.

      He went to collect his paints and brushes from the wardrobe and set to work.

      Only when he stopped to rest his painting arm did he realise that the sun was now very high. He looked at his watch: three hours had passed in total concentration without his realising. Suddenly he was thirsty and remembered he hadn’t had a drink since arriving at the cabin. First he went to wring out a rag in the brook to cover the open paints. Then he went back out with the kettle.

      As Luke stooped on the bank, the filled kettle in his hand, he heard a quiet rustling of undergrowth. He’d seen deer in these woods, of course, or maybe it was a rabbit, or a bird scratching for nesting material. Very slowly Luke turned, half crouched, and looked behind him from where the noise had come.

      There stood a small brown deer, exquisitely pretty, with large dark eyes and a velvety nose. Luke kept absolutely still – and so did the deer. They eyed each other for a long moment, and still neither moved. As slowly as he could, Luke straightened, willing the creature not to dart away. But when he was almost upright, she flicked her pointed ears, turned quite calmly, it seemed to him, and trotted back among the trees and out of sight.

      Luke laughed in delight at the deer’s inquisitiveness. For a wild creature she was pretty bold. Maybe she’d visit again and he could entice her closer to the cabin. When