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

out by the busy day, Eileen soon fell asleep in front of the telly. Coming in from the kitchen, Libby gently touched her on the arm. ‘Ready for your bath, are you?’

      ‘I don’t want a bath.’ Eileen was adamant. ‘I’m not dirty, so why do I need a bath?’

      Recognising the signs of an argument in the offing, Libby said reassuringly, ‘No, Mum, you’re not dirty, and no one said you were. If you don’t want a bath, a wash will do just fine.’

      ‘I’m tired!’

      ‘So, we’ll make it a quick wash. Then I’ll put you to bed. Agreed?’

      Eileen’s answer was to settle herself in the chair and prepare to go back to sleep.

      ‘Mum?’

      ‘What now, child?’

      ‘I’m ready to take you upstairs.’

      ‘Why am I going upstairs?’

      ‘Because it’s gone ten o’clock, and you’re falling asleep in your chair. Wouldn’t you rather sleep in the comfort of your bed?’

      Rubbing her eyes, Eileen looked up at her daughter. ‘Libby?’

      ‘Yes, Mum?’

      ‘You’re a good girl.’

      ‘Well, thank you.’ She had abandoned ever trying to follow her mother’s train of thought. ‘So now, are you ready to go upstairs?’

      ‘If you like.’

      ‘Come on, then.’ She helped Eileen out of the chair, before taking her step by careful step up to the bedroom. Having decided that her mother was too weary to go into the bathroom, she then got her into her nightgown and seated her on the edge of the bed. ‘You sit there a minute,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

      She hurried to the bathroom, where she quickly ran a measure of both hot and cold water into a bowl, before swishing it about with her fingers. Gathering flannel, soap and towel, she hurried back to the bedroom and helped her mother to wash.

      Settling her into bed, she switched on the nightlight. Libby knew only too well how her mother feared the darkness. Not for the first time, she wondered about this fear. ‘Maybe there isn’t a reason,’ she thought. ‘Maybe it’s just one of those instinctive, irrational fears that can never be explained.’

      Libby wondered if there had ever been a time in her mother’s life when there was no fear of the night, or the shifting shadows; no pressing need to have a light on in her room. She knew her mother was not the only one to fear the dark. Still, it was a curious thing, all the same.

      Exhausted, she climbed into her own bed and slid down under the duvet. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

      While her daughter slept soundly, Eileen was beginning to toss and turn. Waking with a start, she lifted herself up against the pillow, her wide eyes scouring the room. Everything seemed as it should be – so what had startled her awake? What was it? Who was it?

      Apprehensive, she glanced about the room until her gaze was drawn to the window. With her heart pounding, she got out of bed and ran to open the curtains. ‘Go away. Leave me be!’ She whispered it over and over, her voice trembling uncontrollably. ‘Please . . . go away.’

      She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of, but the dark memories – crippling images engrained in her soul – tormented her. He was out there, watching her. Wanting to hurt her. She knew it.

      In the adjoining room, Libby was woken by the screams. Scrambling out of bed, she raced next door, only to find the bed empty and her mother nowhere in sight.

      Hurrying onto the landing, she called out, ‘Mum!’ She checked the stair-gate, but it was intact, just as she had left it.

      ‘Mum, where are you?’ Stepping over the stair-gate, she ran downstairs to quickly check the doors back and front. All was secure. She searched all the rooms – even the toilet, where Eileen had hidden before – but there was no sign of her anywhere.

      Covering the stairs two at a time, Libby headed for the bathroom. That too, was empty. Returning to her mother’s bedroom, she searched again, under the bed and in the cupboards – but still there was no sign of Eileen.

      Intent on calling the police, she turned towards the door – and it was then that she heard the low, whimpering sounds.

      They were coming from behind the long curtains at the window.

      ‘Mum?’ She went forward, speaking softly, knowing how quickly her mother’s mood could change. Confusion became fear. Fear escalated into violence – against others, and against herself.

      ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’m here.’

      Easing back the curtain, she found Eileen crouching on all fours, her stricken eyes peeping over the low window-sill.

      ‘He’s there,’ Eileen whispered hoarsely. ‘He’s out there . . . waiting for us!’ She made a shivering sound. ‘Get back, child! He mustn’t see you!’ Frantically clawing at her daughter’s bare feet, she tried desperately to draw her back. ‘Come away from the window!’

      Libby tried to calm her. ‘There is nothing out there, Mum,’ she coaxed. ‘Please believe me. You’re safe enough here – we’re safe enough.’

      ‘No! He’s hurt. He knows we’re here. He’s been here before.’ When she swivelled her gaze upwards, Libby was shocked at the terror in her mother’s face.

      Reaching up, Eileen grabbed hold of Libby’s hand. ‘Close the curtains,’ she implored. ‘I don’t want him to hurt you – it’s not your fault. Come away, child – come away!’

      She drew Libby down beside her. ‘Ssh. Ssh, now. He’s listening. He can hear us, you know.’ Her whole body was shaking with fear.

      Grabbing both ends of the curtains, Libby swished them shut. ‘Come back to bed now, Mum.’ Shaken by the experience, she coaxed Eileen to her feet. ‘Has he gone now?’ Eileen whispered. ‘Are we safe?’

      Choked with emotion, Libby assured her that she was safe now, that no one could see them, and that there was no one out there.

      ‘Mother, listen to me,’ Libby said as she lay on the bed beside her. ‘Just now, when you thought you saw something – will you tell me about it? Please, Mum – describe what you think you saw.’ She had to get her talking, opening her heart and mind. That was the way. Over the years, she had been advised by the people who knew best that it was all right to gently question.

      Visibly nervous, Eileen mumbled, ‘No, it’s a secret. He’s listening. He’s always listening. It’s too late, you see. Wicked! Wicked, that’s what it is!’ Then she was crying – deep, racking sobs that broke Libby’s heart.

      For what seemed an age, Eileen wept – until all the fight and fear seemed to ebb away. Then she suddenly asked Libby, ‘Why are you in my bed? I can’t sleep with you in my bed!’

      Libby breathed a sigh of relief at this abrupt change of mood. She played along: ‘I thought we might talk, that’s all.’

      ‘Naughty girl! I’m very tired. You must go back to your own bed.’

      Knowing that her mother had completely forgotten the incident at the window, Libby said, ‘I’ll leave you to sleep, then. Goodnight, Mum.’

      There was no answer. Eileen was already asleep.

      For Libby, though, there was no rest now. Whatever her mother imagined she had seen, it had somehow got to her as well.

      So, what terrible person had her mother imagined? Who did she think was ‘out there’? And why was this person so ‘wicked’?

      All