The Loner. Josephine Cox

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      JOSEPHINE COX

      The Loner

      COPYRIGHT

      Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Copyright © Josephine Cox 2007

      Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to

       be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is

       available from the British Library

      Typeset in New Baskerville by

       Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

       stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

      This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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      Source ISBN-13: 9780007221134

       EBook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN 9780007279548 Version: 2017-08-10

      DEDICATION

       This book is for my Ken, as always

      My thanks to my large and wonderful family for all the love and support you have always given me. And to my many friends, including the ones who read my books and write to me. What would I do without all of you? Stay well, be good, and if you can’t be good, be naughty!

      CONTENTS

      COPYRIGHT

      DEDICATION

      PART ONE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      PART TWO

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      PART THREE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      PART FOUR

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      PART FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHATTERBOX

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      EXTRACT

      THE LONER

      ALSO BY JOSEPHINE COX

      ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

      PART ONE

      Blackburn, 1955

       The Road to Ruin

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHE MADE A ghostly figure as she silently wended her way through the dark, shadowy streets.

      Late again, she thought. But there was little regret as she recalled the fun-filled evening, with good company and a man’s arms about her. Why should she feel guilty? What was so wrong about her having a good time? She was still relatively young and vibrant. The men liked her and she liked them, and there was more to life than sitting at home and being a good little wife. Life was too short for that.

      As she turned into Derwent Street, she thought of young Davie. Only then did she feel ashamed. She hoped he wasn’t waiting up. She didn’t want to see the sadness in his eyes when he saw her arrive home at this late hour, giddy with booze and caring for nothing or no one, except him, her darling son.

      ‘You’re a bad woman, Rita Adams,’ she told herself. ‘You should have been home hours ago.’ She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘There’ll be sparks flying, you’ll see.’

      Her unsteady footsteps echoed eerily against the pavement as she continued her way past the row of terraced houses. At this hour, most people were in bed and only one house was lit up. This was her home. This was where her family would be waiting and watching. She thought of her child again, and the guilt was cutting, ‘Davie’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve a mother like you.’ There were times when she hated herself.

      Shivering in the cold night air, she clutched the lapels of her coat and drew it tighter about her. ‘Remember now,’ she muttered, ‘you’ve spent the evening with your old friend, Edna.’ Such lies, she thought. Such badness. She reached her gaze towards the twitching curtains and saw the shadowy figure of a man. ‘He’s waiting for you,’ she whispered nervously. ‘Best not let him guess what you’ve been up to.’ She giggled. ‘Best have your story good and ready.’

      Each time she had a different excuse, and each time she became a better liar. Tormented, she thought of her long-suffering husband, and her ageing father whose house they lived in. But it was her son she mostly feared for: Davie was a fine and loving boy who did not deserve a mother like her. These three wonderful people were her family and she loved them with a passion, and God help them, they loved her too; more than she deserved.

      After an evening of laughter and drink she remembered how it had been, in the back alley, the thrill of being in the arms of a stranger. She didn’t know his name, nor did she want to. They simply met, talked and laughed, shared a moment of frantic excitement, and then he went on his way.

      No money ever changed hands on such occasions. It was the excitement, that was all she craved. Brief and sordid, the encounters meant nothing to her. She adored her husband; she cherished her family. But sometimes, for some mysterious reason that she didn’t understand but was powerless to resist, Rita Adams followed the urge to abandon her responsibilities and lash out at life.

      If she lost control, it wasn’t her fault she told herself