Bad Boy Jack

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Can he find his children, and the woman he loves, before everything is lost?

Josephine Cox's Bad Boy Jack is the thrilling saga of a man who must battle against the odds to reunite the family he has split asunder. Perfect for fans of Lindsey Hutchinson and Cathy Sharp.

Unable to cope with raising his children alone, Robert Sullivan abandons them to others, until he has a change of heart and decides to go back for them. But on the way there, he is involved in a horrific accident.

Jack and Nancy are placed in the brutal regime of the Galloway Children's Home, where Jack's devotion to his sister and fiery temper land him in more trouble. The children find themselves at the mercy of the corrupt Clive Ennington, who splits them up and sells Nancy off to the highest bidder.

Meanwhile Mary, Robert's only love, is forced to seek a new life for herself. She decides to marry Paul Marshall, the handsome owner of a seaside guesthouse but her chance of happiness is threatened by his embittered aunt. As Robert recovers in hospital he is determined to find and reunite his family. But when he realises the terrible consequences of his actions, he begins to wonder if he will ever see Mary and the children again.

What readers are saying about Bad Boy Jack:

'Everything you could want in a novel is included in this book...murder, adoption, jealousy, anger, passion and love to name just a few... A truly captivating book by a wonderful author'

'I found this story gripping, exciting and certainly kept me intrigued. Also had a good twist'

'This book is very good. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, there are so many things going on. Never know what is going to happen next. Great read all the way to the end'

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 357

Sample

She had no idea where she was headed or whether she would find contentment when she got there. She had packed only the most necessary items; enough to see her over the first week, and though her purse was not bulging with money, it would feed her and rent a room for a fortnight. Other than that she had her hopes and dreams, which in themselves would fill the biggest heart.

She needed to re-evaluate her life, and for that she had to find a place far away from here; a place where she had never been before – a safe, quiet place where she could either curl up and smother herself in self-pity or, if she was brave enough, find a new life and forget what had happened here, in this street, in that house . . . all her dreams shattered.

Deep in her heart she knew she would never find the same powerful, all-consuming love that she had experienced with Robert, but she had already resigned herself to that. She might never find riches, or contentment, but that was of no matter.

Already she was filled with regrets, but she would learn to live with them. Whatever happened now, there would be no going back. Not for anything . . . or anyone.

At the corner of the lane, she stopped and glanced back. He was at the cottage window, watching her, holding a lamp in his hand. Their eyes met, and her heart leapt. Then she saw him turn away. She paused for a moment, but he did not reappear – then with new resolve she bowed her head to the wind and pushed on.

Nothing had changed.

From the village street outside he heard the sound of a couple laughing; almost immediately the laughter changed to anger, the cutting voices shattering his quiet mood. Curiously, the verbal abuse then gave way to another sound, sharp and quick, like the crack of a whip, or a spiteful female hand slapping against a man’s undefended cheek. A brief, brooding silence followed, until a burst of hearty laughter once more took its place.

He smiled knowingly. ‘A lover’s tiff,’ he murmured cynically. In that one lonely moment, he envied them.

Gathering his thoughts, he returned his attention to the small, sleeping figures. Just now, with the hazy light from the lamp bathing their faces, his children appeared to be looking at him with accusing eyes, but of course they were not. Lowering his gaze he looked away; strange, unbearable emotions raging through him.

Bowing his head, he stepped away and closed the door softly. In that moment, he realised the enormity of what he must do, and almost changed his mind.

Inevitably, the moment passed and his resolve returned. Taking a deep breath he quietly assured himself, ‘You have no choice.’ His voice hardened. ‘She has left you no choice!’

In his tortured mind he could see her face; not beautiful, but incredibly pretty in a childish way. He thrust the image from his mind. He would never forgive her! They would never forgive her!

Making his way downstairs he crossed the hall and entered the living room, where he slumped into the armchair; his face bathed in the heat from the fire, his eyes closed and his mind alive with all manner of unquiet thoughts.

After a while he shifted his reluctant gaze to the photograph on the mantelpiece. The young, fair-haired woman was smiling, her brown eyes returning his gaze. Wanting to hate her, but unable to stifle the love he felt, he wisely looked away.

Disturbed now, he got out of the chair and collected the photograph into his strong, workworn fingers. He smiled, a forlorn kind of smile. ‘I’ll always love you,’ he told her, his voice grated with emotion, ‘in spite of what you did.’ A moment of regret, then he kissed her cold uplifted face. ‘Goodbye, Mary, my love. God keep you safe . . . wherever you may go.’

He had no way of knowing where she had gone. In fact, he never expected to see her again. No matter. Maybe it was for the best.

With his immediate concern for the morning, and the fate of the two innocents upstairs, he replaced the photograph, and for the next hour, busied himself in tidying the room. He put away the children’s toys – little Nancy’s rag doll with the round flat face and big blue eyes encircled with outrageously long eyelashes, and Jack’s precious wooden train . . . a long, black, meticulously detailed replica with red wheels and a whistle that actually sounded like the real thing.

Robert proudly recalled how he himself had carved it from a piece of wood he and Jack had found in Yardacre Spinney.

After clearing the room, he made himself a nightcap . . . a mug of hot milk laced with a generous measure of brandy. Turning once more to pleasure in Mary’s sweet smile, he raised his cup with a flourish, but he didn’t speak. These past few days there had been too much of that . . . too many words with nothing meaningful!

Frowning, he downed the drink in one long breathless gulp. The liquid warmed his insides, helping him relax and settle his thoughts.

More contented now, he sat for a time, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms lazily dangling over the sides of the chair. Mentally going over the events of the last few days, he became enraged. With her! With himself. The heat and the brandy had started to affect his senses, he knew, and he sprang out of the chair, determined not to let events overwhelm him.

Taking his empty cup to the scullery he set it down on the draining-board and, leaning on his hands, he stared into the sink with unseeing eyes. He hated her! No! He loved her. He wanted to kill her for what she had done! Yet he wanted her back . . . if only to advise him as to what he should do. But she wasn’t coming back and there was no use wishing.

Turning on the cold tap, he bent his head over the sink, closed his eyes and swilled the shockingly cold water over his face and neck. Thankfully, it seemed to sober his thoughts.

Returning to the living room, he glanced about. The dark sofa and two matching chairs were the worse for wear, and yet the dresser, long ago scarred by generations of users, had been polished to a mirror finish by Mary.

On the opposite wall, the oval wooden-framed mirror above the fireplace was whisker clean, and below it, straddling the mantel, the velvet cover was brushed smooth, its long silky tassels gently lifting in the rising heat from the fire. Green it was, and soft to the touch . . . he moved now to stroke his fingertips over its surface, but it didn’t help to soothe him. He was foolish to think it ever would.

His favourite item in the room was the solitary picture that hung against the back wall. Large and bold, it depicted a lively scene in the marketplace, Mary’s regular weekend haunt. Many was the time during the past year she had lived with him that she would return from a Saturday visit to Bedford Town, her face flushed with excitement at some bargain or other she had managed to secure.

He saw it all in his mind and his heart leapfrogged at the bittersweet memory. Emotion spilled over. In spite of all his resolve, it was more than he could bear.

A burst of rage erupted inside him. Grabbing the small chair he swung it into the dresser, slicing the smile from her face, and shattering her image into a million pieces. Tiny slivers of glass and small china ornaments exploded in all directions. He stared at the dismembered face for a moment, then, with an anguished cry, he brought his foot down on it, and ground her to pulp beneath his boot.

Exhausted, he surveyed the room through blood-shot eyes; oddly gratified to see that it was now a shambles. With a heavy heart and his features set like granite, he turned on his heel and made his way upstairs to his room, where he fell across his bed and drifted into a deep, fitful sleep.

The boy shivered and turned restlessly in his bed. He would not be able to sleep this night. How could he, when he had no idea what the morning might bring?

One thing was for certain. Whatever happened, he knew he would have to be brave . . . if only for his baby sister’s sake.

Jack smiled at her from the far side of the room, where he was pulling up his trouser-braces. ‘I know,’ he answered with a boyish pride. ‘I’ve already seen it.’

His sister’s small face was etched with disappointment. ‘Oh!’ She had so much wanted to be the first to see the snow.

‘It started while you were still fast asleep.’ Returning his attention to fastening the top button of his one and only good shirt, he glanced at his image in the bit of mirror hanging on a nail; tall and slim of build, he was a quiet-natured soul, opposite in personality to the exuberant Nancy, and because of their unsettled situation, the seven-year-old boy had already adopted a protective role towards this darling little girl. ‘I’ve been awake a long time, you see.’

Momentarily distracted by the falling snow, Nancy seemed not to have heard, but then with her wondrous eyes following the large, fluffy snowflakes, she asked curiously, ‘How long?’

Sighing, Jack rolled his chestnut-brown eyes. ‘Don’t really know.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Three, maybe four hours.’ He sighed again, ‘All I know is, I’ve been awake a l-o-n-g time.’ He dragged out the word to emphasise the dreary unending night he had endured.

‘Can we make a snowman, Jack? Can we?’ His sister’s sapphire-blue eyes lit up.

Before Jack could reply, another voice intervened. ‘Sorry, Nancy, there’s no time.’ Robert was at the door, washed and shaved, and ready to go. ‘We’d best be off, before the snow sets in. Come on! Move yourselves!’

Shocked by the harshness in his voice, the children looked at him. Not surprisingly, it was Nancy who spoke. ‘Where are we going, Daddy?’

Unprepared for his daughter’s direct question, Robert quickly searched for a suitable answer. ‘We need to find a new house.’ It was a downright lie, and he hated himself for it.

‘Why can’t we stay here?’ The little girl’s lip trembled.

‘Because we need to make a fresh start, that’s why.’ This time it was no lie. A fresh start was what they all needed – him, Mary, and the children, he thought. Through his torment he had convinced himself of that.

‘Will it have an orchard and a spinney, and will it be the same as here?’ Nancy’s blue eyes filled with tears.

‘I hope so, sweetheart.’ His voice had softened a little.

Her brother was not so easily pacified. ‘Will I have to go to a new school?’ he asked sternly.

‘Probably.’ Taken aback by the fire in his son’s eyes, Robert wondered how much the boy knew. An old head on young shoulders, Jack was a quiet child, deep and private, and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that he knew all there was to know. It was a daunting thought. ‘Maybe you won’t have to change schools,’ he answered lamely. ‘It all depends.’

Jack was hopeful. ‘Do you mean we might come back here to Hilltops to live . . . if we can’t find a house we like?’

‘That’s enough talk for now.’ Backing up towards the door, Robert indicated that he was through discussing it. ‘Move yourselves then, you two. If we hurry we might just catch the eight-thirty omnibus into town.’

‘Daddy?’

‘Now what?’ He turned to face his son.

The boy smiled, a sly, infuriating smile, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘I’m glad she’s gone.’

Robert’s features hardened. So, he did know after all, damn and bugger it! The boy had never warmed to Mary, and had taken every opportunity to come between them. ‘Get a move on!’ he ordered. He had calculated that with the thirty-minute journey into town, it would be about quarter to nine when they arrived at their actual destination; five minutes added on to organise everything and, thankfully, the children would not have to wait in the cold for too long. He had to do it. For their sakes more than his, he had to do it. And may God forgive him.

Sensing that his father would not be drawn any further, Jack reconciled himself to whatever lay ahead. ‘Come on,’ he urged his sister. ‘You’d best get dressed.’ Collecting her clothes from the back of the chair where she had placed them the night before, he laid them on the bed; there was a long, frilly petticoat, some warm red stockings, and a soft, woolly dress sage green in colour, with a black collar and belt.

Relieved that his daughter seemed to have accepted his answer, and that his son had at last fallen silent, Robert smiled from one to the other; though it was a sad smile that never reached his troubled green eyes. ‘Good girl, Nancy, and you’d best get a quick wash, eh? We don’t want folks thinking you’re a pair of vagabonds.’ Again, that sorry smile. ‘Don’t be long now.’

‘I won’t, Daddy.’ She stole a moment to take a last look at the familiar world outside her window; the long, meandering fields now shrouded in snow and the swathes of forest that skirted the horizon; the small lake shimmering silver in the distance and the army of sparrows that sat huddled like soldiers in the branches of the tree just below her window. Because they visited the house every day, Nancy had named every one of them.

Hilltops had been the children’s home now for the past eight months. Some three hundred years old, it had stood the test of time well. A pretty cottage in an old lane with few neighbouring houses, it had three bedrooms, a spacious living room and a tiny kitchen. Set in a small village in some of Bedfordshire’s most beautiful countryside, it was a little isolated from the outside world, but that was what gave it its appeal.

Tearing herself away from the fairytale scene outside, the tiny girl skipped across the room and gave her father a hug. ‘Mary will wash me.’

Her innocent remark turned his heart over. ‘Not today, sweetheart,’ he said gruffly.

A look of confusion coloured her features. ‘But she always washes me!’

Helpless, Robert appealed to the boy. ‘Will you see to it, son?’ He threw him a warning glance. ‘And don’t let your tongue run away with you.’

Jack understood only too well. ‘It’s all right, Nancy.’ He took his sister by the hand. ‘I’ll help you.’

Taking the moment, Robert returned to the living room where he hastily wrote a letter that the children were not privileged to see.

While Nancy changed from her nightie to her petticoat, Jack went down to the kitchen where he poured some warm water into a bowl; folding a clean towel over his shoulder, he carried bowl and cloth upstairs and helped Nancy wash the sleep from her eyes. He reluctantly assisted in brushing her long, corn-coloured hair, and afterwards held the dress while she put her arms through it. ‘Do I look pretty?’ Holding out the hem of her dress, she gave a twirl, her blue eyes shining mischievously.

Jack laughed. ‘You look just like the doll in the music-box.’

Twirling again, Nancy got dizzy and fell laughing into his arms.

Cutting through their fun, Robert’s voice called up to them, ‘Are you two ready yet?’

Jack answered, ‘In a minute.’ He had so many pressing questions, yet he dared not voice any one of them.

When they came downstairs Robert was pacing the living room like a caged animal. ‘There’s toast and marmalade, and I’ve made you both a hot drink.’ Leading Nancy to the table he sat her on a chair with a cushion and drew it up. ‘We’ve about ten minutes before we need to leave.’

Jack didn’t eat, while Nancy eagerly tucked into the hot toast, though she didn’t drink much, which was just as well since she had only recently been trained from the baby potty.

While Robert went to fetch her hat and coat, she took it upon herself to pay a visit to the lawy. ‘See! I can go all on my own now,’ she declared proudly, though her father had to free her knickers where they had caught up in her dress.

To Robert’s relief, they caught the omnibus with a minute to spare; it was a mad dash down the country lanes to the main road, past the woodshed where his son Jack and he had spent many an hour chopping wood and carving, and where last winter they had built a rocking-horse for Nancy.

As they hurried by, the young lad couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever see this place again.

Too young to entertain such thoughts, Nancy believed with all her heart that they really would come back, if only because the idea of leaving this place for ever was too terrible. In the past eight months she, like Jack, had come to love Hilltops. She loved it all . . . the shed where they watched their Daddy build Jack’s tree-house, and make the big flat tables for hammering to the trees so the birds could feed easily. Then there was the orchard with its many fruit trees, the rows of raspberry canes that spilled over with lush berries and splashes of colour in late summer and autumn; and oh, that magical spinney, where the children had spent many a happy hour playing hide and seek.

They were never lonely, even though they neither of them had many friends, save for the milkman’s son, who sometimes played boyish games with Jack, like racing and conkering and things that Nancy was too young and small to join in. But he only visited once a week and was soon gone.

And now they themselves were going, and neither of them knew if or when they would ever come back.

‘Look, Nancy! Look at the coalman’s hat!’ Chuckling, Jack called his sister’s attention to the flat cap atop the man’s jolly round face, its wide, stiff peak piled high with coal-dust. Before heaving a sackful of coal from the cart onto his back, the man would shake his head and the black dust would go everywhere, especially up his nose, at which he would sneeze and yell, and frighten the pigeons that had settled on the roofs close by. They took off in a mad rush, and returned a moment later, only to swoop off again when the horse appeared to have got a noseful and gave out a bellowing sneeze that shook the cart on its axle.

By the time Robert and the children arrived at the Town Hall, it was ten minutes to nine; just as Robert had planned. ‘We’ll wait here,’ he told the youngsters. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long before they open.’

So they sat down and waited – a pathetic little group, huddled together on the grey steps of that huge formidable building, and all around them was the hustle and bustle of busy people, hurrying to the boulevard and the shops or their places of work, or merely browsing through the half laid-out stalls.

Concerned that he might be seen and afterwards remembered, Robert grew agitated. ‘Are you sure your coat’s done up properly?’ he fussed, turning from a curious woman’s stare to check Nancy’s coat and satisfy himself that his little daughter would be warm until someone arrived. At the same time, he slipped the all-important letter inside her pocket. ‘What about you, Jack? Are you all right, son?’

Jack nodded, but said nothing. Robert was not surprised. He had seen the accusing look in the boy’s eyes and was shamed.

Another moment and a young woman arrived; small and homely with a bright red scarf tied round her shoulder-length dark hair and a long coat down to her boots. She appeared to be not much older than Robert, ‘Well! Well! Waiting for me, are yer?’ she said. She had the warm, colourful accent of a Bedfordshire local.

To Robert’s immense relief, her ready smile told him that here was a woman he could trust. ‘By! I hope you haven’t caught your death o’ cold, sitting on them steps.’ Turning the key in the lock she threw open the big, panelled door. ‘You’d best come inside.’

Once inside, she gestured for them to sit on the bench beside the office window. ‘Before you tell me what business brings you ’ere, I’ll get me hat and coat off, and see if I can’t rustle up a hot drink for the young ’uns.’ Laughing, she added with a cheeky wink, ‘If I look hard enough, I might even be able to find a biscuit or two.’ She asked Robert if he would like a drink but he gratefully declined, taking great care not to draw too much attention to himself, and all the while avoiding eye contact with her.

With the children seated on the bench and the woman gone to bring the drinks, Robert made his move. ‘You two stay here a minute,’ he suggested. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Where are you going?’ Nancy didn’t much like being left there. ‘I want to come with you.’

‘No, sweetheart. It’s too cold for you to be wandering about, and anyway, that nice woman is bringing you a drink. Like I say . . . I won’t be gone but a minute or two.’

He gave her a long, hard hug and kissed her tenderly on the forehead; he might have done the same for Jack, if it hadn’t been for the hostile look he received.

Taking a deep breath he shook his head, ‘For God’s sake . . . don’t look at me like that, son.’

Unmoved by his father’s plea, Jack looked away.

Leaning towards him, Robert lowered his voice. ‘Look after your sister, son,’ he said. ‘Whatever you might think, I do love you both.’

‘No, you don’t.’ The look Jack gave him was shrivelling. Taking the infant into his arms, he assured her softly, ‘Don’t worry, sis. I’ll look after you.’ Taking hold of her hand, he led Nancy down the corridor, ‘Let’s go and find that nice woman, eh?’

Already he had turned his back on his father. It was a hard thing for Robert to accept, but he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe there would come a day when Jack might understand and forgive. But not today. Today was the end of something precious.

Not once did Jack glance back at his father. Nor did Nancy; though she wanted to. Instead, there was something about what Jack was saying that frightened her. ‘Don’t tell them anything!’ he urged. ‘Just you keep quiet, Nancy. I’ll take care of it.’ He had no idea what might happen to them now, but of one thing the boy was certain . . . their Daddy was not coming back. First their Mammy had deserted them, then Mary, and now him. There was only Nancy and himself left now.

‘When will Daddy be back?’ Clutching his hand, Nancy looked up to him with tearful eyes.

Jack gave no answer. Instead, he quickened his pace and continued down that narrow gloomy corridor.

By the time the woman ushered the children into the tiny kitchen, Robert had already made his way out of the building.

Once outside, he hurried away. He dared not linger, nor look back. Instead he broke into a run and as he ran he sobbed, the tears rolling unheeded down his face.

Leaving the children behind like that was the cruellest and hardest thing he had ever done. Though it made what he was about to do now all that much easier.

He had loved his wife Mathilde so much. In the ten years they had been wed, and had had their two bairns, he had never once looked at another woman. Oh, he had had plenty of opportunities, but he wanted no other. Then, a year ago, he had been devastated when she walked out on him and the children. I’m starting a new life, she wrote in her letter. I’m in love with someone else. It was only later that he discovered she had gone off with the rentman, whose father had recently died and left him a string of properties. Mathilde, apparently, had leapt at the opportunity to better herself.

Because of the children, and because he loved her still, he had tracked her down and begged her to come home, but she would not be persuaded. ‘This is what I want!’ She stood at the door of her fine house, wearing silk and pearls, and scoffed at his attempts to reason with her. ‘This is my home now, Robert. I have servants at my beck and call and enough money to buy whatever I want.’ She laughed in his face. ‘What makes you think I’d swap all this for a cramped house in a back street, with never enough money left over for luxuries? You and the children must make your own way. God knows, I gave you the best years of my life. Now you can have a taste of it. I don’t need you any more, Robert Sullivan, and the sooner you get that into your head, the better!’ With that, she handed him back her wedding ring and slammed the door in his face.

Only his pride kept him from breaking it down.

Over the next few weeks he went about his work and wrote endless letters asking for her to come and see the children, if only for a short visit, as they were pining for her. But she never answered, and he wondered how he could ever have fallen in love with a woman so selfish and hard-hearted that she could abandon her own childer, and Nancy still practically a babe in arms.

The last time he had gone to the house, it was a night much like tonight . . . snowing heaven’s hardest, with a wind that could slice the skin from your face. ‘Gone away,’ the servant told him. ‘We have no idea when the master and mistress will be back.’ And that was that. There was nothing more he could do.

After a bleak few months had come his meeting and falling in love with Mary – a joy he’d never thought to taste again – and the move to Hilltops where, instead of joy, something had gone wrong between them. Discord had wormed its way into their lives, destroying everything.

Tonight, his life seemed once again in tatters. And so he trudged the streets, thinking about and regretting the sequence of events that had brought them to this sorry state of affairs.

When after a time his thoughts began to clear, he remembered what he must do. With that in mind, he made his way to the railway station. It was time to put the second part of his plan into action.

In those first few hours when he had wandered aimlessly through the chilly streets, he had considered going back to get the bairns. But he had nothing to offer them any more, only his love – and that was small compensation for what they had lost, first their mother and then his beloved Mary.

Leaning over the railway bridge, he stared down through the swirling snow to the maze of track below; in his mind the faces of his children haunted him. They deserved more than he could ever give them. Better to let them be found a loving new home, with a mother who would cradle them in her arms and give them the guidance only a mother could; and a father who was strong enough to forge a life for them, even when his own life had collapsed about him.

Robert Sullivan saw himself for the coward he was, but right now, none of that seemed to matter.

He leaned further over the bridge, slowly edging forward, until the weight of his body balanced precariously over the parapet, his upper half dipping dangerously forward as his feet were lifted from the ground below. The bitter-cold breeze froze his face and split his lips, but he felt no pain or regret. This was his plan. This was what he wanted; what he deserved.

All he had to do was raise his hands and let go, and his troubles would be over.

Once he was satisfied that Robert was far enough from the bridge to be safe, he went away chuckling. ‘The poor sod will cop it when he gets home, I’ll be bound, and serves him right an’ all . . . drunk as a skunk if yer ask me!’ With the cuff of his sleeve he wiped the dewdrop from his nose and shivered in the cold night air. ‘By! It’s as well I came along when I did, or he’d have been over the top and done for.’

Blinded by the driving snow, Robert kept going until he had no idea where he was. After what seemed a lifetime, he saw the sign from the Nag’s Head Inn, and realised that he had wandered back into the centre of town.

Just then, a family of four hurried by – two small children and their parents. Suddenly the parents were running and laughing, helpless under the bombardment of snowballs thrown by the children.

Their jollity cut through his feverish mind like a ray of light. In an instant his thoughts clarified and he knew what he must do. His resolve growing by the minute, he quickened his footsteps and headed back towards the Town Hall. ‘The children!’ he kept saying. ‘Dear God! The children!’

Clumsily now, with the snow clinging to his shoes and slowing him down, he started to run. ‘I’ll get them back!’ he began to gabble. ‘We’ll manage somehow. We’ll make a life for the three of us . . . I’ll tell Jack how sorry I am – what a coward I’ve been. I’ll make it up to them, I swear to God.’ He grew excited, shouting, his voice raised to the heavens. He was so eager now, to make amends. ‘We’ll be all right, me and my kids. We’ll move away – start afresh.’ He was laughing and crying; bursting with all he had to tell them.

A few minutes later he was running up the slippery steps to the Town Hall. When he realised the big, wooden-panelled door was closed against him, he grew frantic, banging his fists on the door, his voice echoing across the square. ‘LET ME IN! I WANT MY KIDS!’ But it was no use. There was no one there to hear him.

‘I’ll be back first thing!’ he sobbed. ‘You tell them that! And tell them I’ll never leave my childer again!’

The sight of a police constable approaching warned Robert he would do well to make himself scarce. ‘I’ll be no good to them if I get locked up inside,’ he reasoned. As it was, he would have some explaining to do when he came back on the morrow.

Incredibly weary now, he leaned on the door, his raw, battered face pressed hard against the wooden panelling, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘I’ll be back for you, don’t worry. Mark my words . . . first thing in the morning, I’ll be waiting right here.’

As he walked away, he felt good – safe, somehow. True, his wife was no longer a part of his life, and he had no regrets on that score. But as for Mary? Oh God! He loved her so much it was like a physical ache inside him. Ev