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

turned to Jack. ‘Where are yer from?’ As he spoke, the remains of his hurried meal sprayed the air. ‘I can tell from the way yer talk – yer not from these parts.’

      Having taken a shine to the old man, Jack explained. ‘I do come from these parts, only I moved away when I was eighteen.’

      ‘Eighteen, eh? An’ what did yer parents think o’ that?’

      Jack took a moment; even now the memories were painful. ‘My father was caught up in a bad fire at the factory where he worked. He was badly hurt and never recovered.’

      The man shook his head soberly. ‘Oh, yer mean the one out Cicely way? I remember that fire. It were a bad ’un – took out half the street, it did. As I recall, four people were lost in that fire . . . So what about yer mum?’

      Jack recalled his mother. Claire Redmond was a smart, attractive woman, but she was never a natural-born mother. In fact, during a heated row between his parents, Jack had once overheard her say she had never wanted children. It was a crippling thing for him to hear.

      The old man was waiting for an answer. ‘Aw, don’t tell me she were caught up in that fire as well?’

      Jack shook his head, ‘No. She didn’t even work at the factory.’

      ‘So, why did yer leave? I’d ’ave thought yer mum would want you at ’ome, with her. Especially with her man gone, and you coming up to the age when you could earn some money.’

      Jack wasn’t enjoying this questioning, but he reluctantly satisfied the old man’s curiosity. ‘A couple of years after we lost Dad, she found herself a rich man, and moved abroad.’

      The older man was shocked. ‘So, did you ’ave older brothers or sisters to keep an eye on yer?’

      ‘No.’ Jack recalled the loneliness he had felt. ‘I was an only child.’

      ‘I see. So yer dad died and yer mum buggered off with a rich fella, leaving you to fend for yourself.’ He shook his head as he moved away. ‘It don’t bear thinking about!’ Screwing up his chip paper, he placed it in a nearby bin. ‘Women, eh? Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em. Well, good luck to yer, son, and mind how you go, eh?’

      Jack watched him amble down the street, shifting from one side to the other to avoid the puddles. He couldn’t help but wonder if the kindly old man had also suffered at the hands of some woman or other.

      Jack finished the last of his chips, which by now had grown cool. But the flavour was not lost, and he thoroughly enjoyed them, right down to the last morsel. Afterwards, he sat a while, thinking and planning, and feeling curiously at ease with the world.

      Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Molly. He hoped she and Mal were getting on all right. Strange to think she might be married to someone else. There was a time when he could not have envisaged his life without Molly in it. When he needed her, she had been there for him, a thoughtful and loving partner. And yet, from the moment he told her of his plan to move up here, it as if she became a different person. He missed her, but he was not sorry it was over between them. Because of the way things had turned out, he realised that he and Molly never really had a future together.

      Thomas was worried. ‘You reckon this bloke followed you to the chippie, then?’

      ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t know if he actually followed me.’ Molly was beginning to wish she hadn’t said anything about the stranger. ‘By the time I came out of the shop, he was only just going in, so it could just have been a coincidence.’

      ‘What’s he look like?’

      Libby pictured him. ‘Tallish, probably about my age, but I couldn’t see his face because he had his umbrella up and his jacket collar turned up.’ Having just left her trainers in the hall, she now took off her wet socks. She hoped Thomas would drop the subject.

      Having finished dishing up the food, Thomas handed her a nice hot plate of saveloy, chips and mushy peas. ‘Don’t worry about it any more, lass,’ Thomas said. ‘Leave that to me. You just put him out of your mind.’

      Eileen was proud of herself. ‘I set the table,’ she told Libby for the third time. ‘Did you get my cod?’

      ‘I certainly did.’ Libby pulled out a chair for her mother. ‘I got you chips too, and if you want them, some mushy peas into the bargain.’

      ‘I never asked for no mushy peas!’ Eileen looked agitated.

      ‘No matter. I’m sure me and Thomas can finish them off.’ She helped her mother into the chair. ‘All right, Mum?’

      Eileen nodded. ‘But I don’t want you and Thomas to eat my mushy peas.’

      Libby and Thomas exchanged a knowing smile, with Thomas teasing, ‘Too late! You didn’t want any, so now they’re all mine.’

      ‘You behave yourself!’ Eileen said with a chuckle. ‘Yer an old devil, that’s what!’

      Folding his arms, he pretended to shrink from her. ‘I wouldn’t dare eat your mushy peas!’ he said in mock terror.

      Eileen was highly amused. ‘Naughty man,’ she kept saying. ‘You’re a very naughty man!’ Then, to Libby’s delight, she got stuck into her food, as if she hadn’t been fed for a month.

      Jack woke in a panic.

      It had taken him a while to drop off to sleep, and when he did, he was instantly back there, in that pitch-dark place – only this time, there was someone standing beside him.

      He couldn’t see who it was, but he knew there was someone there – a shadowy figure, stooping down . . . reaching out with both hands. ‘No! Go away!’ His frantic cries shook him awake, but he couldn’t escape, because the figure was closing in on him . . . and those eyes . . . stark and staring, were looking straight at him. He was trapped, but he was awake. He was awake. And this time, he was more afraid than he had ever been.

      Scrambling out of bed, he sat for a moment, the sweat pouring down his face, his body trembling from head to foot. The dream was the same, but different, because now there was someone else in it. Someone else was there, reaching down, wanting to take him away. The dream had changed. Everything appeared sharper. Nearer. And he didn’t know how to deal with it.

      He got up and began restlessly pacing the floor. ‘Someone was there . . . they were right there, next to me.’ Now he remembered the words. He could still hear the voice, soft and kind: ‘Come away, Jack . . . come away.’

      But he didn’t want to go. Not yet. The eyes held him in a weird kind of fascination. So still, and cold. Staring right at him. Where was he? For pity’s sake – where was he?

      Wide awake, he could still feel the cold. It was bitter and sharp, piercing, right through to the bones. Wrapping the duvet around himself, he shivered uncontrollably. He’d never heard the voice before, but now it stayed with him, whispering in his ear: ‘Come away, Jack . . . come away.’ And he could hardly breathe.

      He relived the dream carefully in his mind, looking for answers. One thing was now clear to him, which he had never realised before: someone else knew that place. Someone else heard his cry for help.

      For some strange reason, being back in his home town was helping him to think with clarity. Maybe in time new things would come to the surface, and he would find the answer to his nightmares.

      Calmer now, Jack went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of cocoa. He was desperately tired. But half an hour later, he was dressed and in his car. He started the engine and headed towards Bower Street. At this time of night, the roads were deserted, and unnervingly shadowy.

      Crossing over into Spring Lane, he drove past the trees on the right, then turning right again,