Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 2: The Loner, Born Bad, Three Letters. Josephine Cox

here,’ he explained, ‘but young Davie felt responsible for his mammy, and when she went, he went with her. At the last minute I changed my mind and ran after them, but it was too late. They’d gone.’

      When he paused, afraid of the next thing he had to tell his son-in-law, Don’s soft voice rippled through his senses. ‘Where are they?’ he asked tremulously. ‘My wife and son … where are they now?’

      Joseph gulped, glanced up and, looking straight into Don’s tormented face, he told him the whole story. He described how, for a time after they’d left, he’d sat in this very chair, hoping and praying they might come back, and everything would be all right. And then, some long time later, how there had come a knock on the door, and it was the police. ‘Come to tell me a bad thing, Don. Oh, dear God, this will break your heart.’

      When his voice quavered, Don urged him on. ‘What, Joseph! Was there a fight? Did Rita cause trouble and they put her in jail – is that it? JOSEPH! You have to tell me!’

      Hesitantly, the old man went on, ‘You remember that night: how can you ever forget it? Rita was out of her mind with booze. She and the boy were headed for friends of hers, or so she said.’

      ‘Go on, I’m listening.’ Though with every word the old man spoke, Don’s heart grew heavier.

      Joseph described the events as he knew them. He told how Davie had got his mammy as far as the so-called friend’s house, where they had been turned away, then how they’d tried to make for the church. Almost carrying her by then, Davie had reached the shelter of the woods with his mam, who was becoming very ill and weak. It was here that she had collapsed. He told how Tom Make peace was out on his early milk-round, when he heard Davie calling for help on the edge of the woods. ‘When he got to Rita, she was hurt bad.’

      Taking a deep breath, Joseph finished, ‘Tom lifted her onto the wagon, meaning to drive her to the Infirmary. But they never got there because … she died … Oh, Don, I’m so sorry. Rita’s gone … she’s gone.’ There! It was told, and now he couldn’t speak for it was all too real.

      For one shocking moment, the house was heavy with silence, all but for the old man’s quiet sobbing.

      Don was looking up at him, his eyes wide and shocked. Numbed by the weight of what he had just learned, he could only be still, as though he too had died somewhere inside.

      Don knew, as well as Joseph, that they had both played a significant part in that night’s terrible events. The combination of drink, temper, betrayal and blame had ended in a tragedy so profound, that both men would be marked by it for ever more.

      Joseph knew how hard the news must have been for Don, and there was nothing he could do to ease it. So he stood up, and leaving the younger man to come to terms with it, he said helplessly, ‘I’ll get us a drink, son. I’m so sorry. I would give anything not to have to have told you that.’

      As he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder. Don was just sitting there, staring into the fireplace and shaking his head, making small, unintelligible noises.

      In the kitchen, Joseph quickly made a strong brew, and taking it back to his son-in-law, he was not surprised to see him, head bent, quietly sobbing and calling his wife’s name.

      On soft footsteps he went across the room, placed the cup of tea in the hearth and, sliding his arm round Don’s shoulders, he consoled him, needing to give him strength, and yet knowing how futile it was, for news of that kind can break a man.

      Moments passed before Don raised his head, and with both hands wiped his face. ‘Where is she, Joseph? I need to see her.’

      Joseph understood. ‘First, just take a minute or two,’ he suggested kindly. ‘Drink this.’ He handed him the mug of hot tea. ‘I’ll get myself ready, and I’ll take you to her.’ With every passing minute he waited in dread for the inevitable question, and when it came he was not prepared.

      ‘Where’s Davie?’ Replacing the mug of tea in the hearth, Don waited for an answer.

      Without a word, Joseph sat himself in the chair, his face grey with pain as he imparted the news to the younger man. ‘Davie’s gone. He ran away.’ Before Don could speak, he went on hurriedly, ‘Tom said he took it real bad. Y’see, Davie’s mammy died in his arms. Afterwards, he just leaped off the wagon and ran into the woods. The police were out after him and everything, but he was never found, and he’s not been in contact since, apart from a letter he wrote before he went away. I’ve kept it, Don. Happen it’ll give you some peace of mind. He came to his mammy’s funeral too, but that was the last we saw of him.’

      The old chap ran a hand over his eyes. ‘There have been times when I’ve driven myself crazy worrying about him, but summat tells me he’s all right, and I have to believe that.’ His voice broke. ‘I have to believe it!’

      Don was already up on his feet. ‘Five years!’ Beginning to pace the floor, he swung round, his eyes wild with grief. ‘My God! He’s been gone these five long years, and you say you’ve not heard from him in all that time?’

      Joseph felt the guilt of it all. ‘Not a word. I blame myself. If I hadn’t asked his mammy to leave my house, the lad would still be here … and happen she would, an’ all.’ That thought would haunt him for ever.

      Pacing the floor, Don tried to think as Davie would. ‘Why in God’s name would he run off? He must have been devastated! I can’t understand why he didn’t come home! With his mammy gone, he needed you more than ever.’ He growled, ‘He needed me too, and I wasn’t there for him! Why didn’t he contact me?’

      Joseph tried to pacify him, like he had tried to pacify himself all this time, but it was not easy. ‘Davie’s a strong, capable lad, with a mind of his own. He’s eighteen now, making a new life for himself somewhere. He’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. Aw, look, don’t fret yerself. You know your own son; you know how proud and independent he can be. Time and again I’ve asked myself why he’d rather run away than come home to me, his grandad. Happen it’s because he’s never forgiven me … and, it has to be said, happen he’s never forgiven you for leaving. But he will, Don. One day he’ll forgive and then he’ll be back, you mark my words.’

      There was no consoling the younger man. ‘I should never have left. I just gave up and walked away, leaving my own wife and child. What was I thinking? Rita needed my help, not for me to desert her. Oh, my darling girl.’ He sobbed. ‘And my poor boy. I deserted him when he needed me the most.’ Believing that it was he who had shattered the family apart, Don was desolate.

      ‘What will you do?’

      ‘What can I do?’ Don’s initial reaction was to go after him – to leave now, this very minute – but common sense took over. ‘I’d go in search of him, but where would I start? You say the police never found him, and you’ve had no word of where he was headed – so if they couldn’t find him, what chance do I have?’ He threw out his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘God knows, I would scour the country inside and out, but there’s no guarantee that I’d ever meet up with him.’

      Joseph agreed sadly. ‘No, son. There’s no guarantee that you’d find him, and if you did, would he thank you for it? No. Your boy will come home when he’s good and ready. And besides, you look done in. You’re not fit to traipse the country. You’ve come back to learn that your wife’s lying in the churchyard and your son’s run off. For now, that’s more than enough for any man to take in.’

      Crossing the room, he clamped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Give yourself time,’ he pleaded. ‘You mustn’t drive yourself into the ground. Try and live with what you’ve learned, before you even think of taking off again.’

      Don was torn. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he murmured. ‘Wherever Davie is, he might need me. And I need him, Joseph … like never before.’

      ‘So