Jinnie

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life; Sagas

Synopsis

A ten-year-old tragedy casts a dangerous shadow on the happiness of two families...

In Jinnie, the sequel to The Woman Who Left, Josephine Cox weaves an unforgettable saga of the lingering power of past betrayals. Perfect for fans of Rosie Goodwin and Dilly Court.

'If you are looking for a story with warmth, humanity and more then a touch of grit, you need look no further... warm and compelling family saga which is as welcome as a roaring fire on a freezing winter's day... never a moment when you are not put in touch with the passions of life' - The Northern Echo

Ten years ago, Louise Hunter's life was torn apart by tragedy. Her husband, Ben, killed himself; her brother-in-law, Jacob, was murdered; and her sister, Susan, abandoned her new-born daughter, revealing the baby is Ben's child. Louise remains haunted by guilt over the one night she spent with Ben's friend Eric, and refuses to return Eric's love. But after adopting Jinnie, she finds new happiness - until Susan decides she wants Jinnie back.

Meanwhile, Adam and Hannah, whose mother was killed with Jacob, are on the run. What Adam witnessed on that dreadful night has put them all in danger, but their beloved grandmother knows that one day they must return to the place where it all began...

What readers are saying about Jinnie:

'Kept me absolutely gripped from beginning to end - the kind of books that make you feel really sad when you come to the end and leave you wishing they could just go on and on'

'Super story, could not guess the ending - five stars'

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 234

Sample

From the rear of the tram, a young woman caught sight of her and, knowing what she knew, found it hard to tear her gaze away. Her companion, a bright young thing called Helen with painted mouth and long, bare legs, was suddenly curious. ‘D’you know that woman?’ she asked.

Keeping her gaze on Louise, her friend nodded.

Impatient, Helen nudged her. ‘So go on, Stell, who is she?’

‘Ssh!’ Shifting her gaze, the girl called Stella warned, ‘Keep your voice down or she’ll hear you.’

Offended, her friend slithered down in her seat. ‘All right, all right – keep yer bloody hair on! I were only asking!’ A moment or two passed, before her curiosity got the better of her once more. ‘Well? Are you gonna tell me who she is, or what?’

Rolling her eyes to heaven, the dark-haired young woman cupped her hand to her mouth. ‘It’s Louise Hunter,’ she hissed.

‘And who the devil’s Louise Hunter when she’s at home?’

‘Ssh!’ Stella said in a whisper. ‘Do you remember when we were kids, there was a scandal about a big murder on Craig Street?’

‘Oh, my God, ’course I remember! A man was arrested . . . he killed that woman Maggie Pringle and her boyfriend.’ Excitement trembled in Helen’s voice. ‘But what’s she got to do with it?’ She raised a wary glance to Louise.

‘Everything.’ Stella leaned close again. ‘The murdered man was her brother-in-law, Jacob. There were them as said it were Louise Hunter’s sister Susan who’d really killed them, on account of she was already having an affair with Jacob Hunter when the bugger went and set up home with this Maggie. Had a couple o’ bairns, she did – a little lass, and a boy.’ She shivered. ‘After the murders, they found the kids hiding in the cellar . . . poor little buggers.’

‘How old were they?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Screwing up her eyes she made a calculation. ‘From what our mam said, the lad saved his sister’s life. He were about six year old then. That were ten years ago, so I expect he’ll be coming up towards sixteen or seventeen by now. Adam, his name were – aye, and his little sister were Hannah. She were a couple of years younger than him.’

‘The other girl was both impressed and disappointed. ‘You seem to remember a lot more than I do.’

‘That’s because you’re three years younger than me, and you didn’t listen at keyholes like I used to.’ It was all coming back like yesterday. ‘Besides, I used to earn money of a weekend, running errands for the women down Johnson Street. By! They never stopped gossiping about all the goings-on.’ Stella chuckled. ‘And I don’t mean just the murder, neither. They were a randy bunch up that way! According to Mrs Newsom at number ten, she and her old man were at it every night o’ the week!’

‘Cor! That must be why she ended up having twelve kids!’ Helen smirked.

‘And not all of ’em her old man’s, neither. She “couldn’t get enough of it”, that’s what she said.’

The image of Mrs Newsom with her scary hair and bandy legs came into their minds; the idea of her cavorting naked with a man was all too much, and try as they might, they could not contain their laughter.

Wiping her eyes, the older one glanced up, relieved to see that Louise was not disturbed by their hilarity.

‘Where’s the sister now?’ Helen said ghoulishly. ‘The one they said might have done the killing?’

‘Gawd knows. She disappeared off the face of the earth, and as far as I know, was never seen again.’ Her gaze went back to Louise who, deep in thought, was oblivious to their interest in her. ‘Happen she knows and she ain’t saying.’

‘She’s not a bad looker, is she?’ Helen remarked. ‘How old d’you reckon she is?’

Another minute, another calculation. ‘Hang on, there was summat else, as I recall.’ The older one reached deep into her memory. ‘Some time before the murders, there was a suicide.’ She gestured to Louise. ‘It was her husband,’ she breathed.

‘Bloody hell! She’s had a colourful life an’ no mistake!’

‘According to our mam, Louise Hunter was about twenty-five when it happened, so she’d be what? In her mid-thirties by now.’ Stella couldn’t imagine how terrible it all must have been. ‘Me and our mam were in the market last week, and we saw her then. Our mam said she’d never married again.’

‘Bit of a waste though?’

They looked appraisingly at Louise, taking in the straight, proud cut of her shoulders, and the long brown hair that fell loosely down her back, and just then as she turned to check the whereabouts of the conductor, the two young women were surprised by her warm, hazel-coloured eyes and her pretty smile. ‘For all her troubles, she’s managed to keep her looks and figure, ain’t she?’ The girl called Helen was impressed, and a teeny bit envious.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said her friend peevishly. ‘She’s not bad, but I’ve seen better, even at her age.’

And that said, they got onto the subject of dating, and how they were sure to pick up a fella at the Palais on Friday night.

These past two years had been the worst. When Eric’s handyman had moved on to pastures new, Louise had left her job at the factory and returned to work at Maple Farm, where she had once lived with Ben, her late husband. The farm had been in the Hunter family for generations, until it had been auctioned to pay for an outstanding debt. Now Eric owned it; Eric, the man she had loved, in secret and in torment, for so very long.

Louise was thrilled to be back, working on the land, but there had been a price to pay; working alongside Eric was tearing her apart. He didn’t know that, and she could never tell him. She wanted him, needed him like she had never needed any other man. But the past would not set her free.

Some years ago, Eric had vowed to love her for ever. When she turned from him then, he never spoke of his love again, but she knew he loved her still, and always would. For didn’t she see it in his eyes every time he looked on her, and didn’t she love him in the very same way?

Theirs was a powerful love – but not as powerful as the guilt they felt over what had taken place all those years before. Oh, the times when she had wanted to reach out and touch him, aching for his arms to enfold her! But she never did; and for the same reason, he never made a move towards her. Because, like her, Eric was imprisoned by the past, and too afraid to grasp the future.

‘Montague Street next stop!’ The conductor’s cry carried through the tram, shattering her thoughts. ‘C’mon, ladies, let’s be ’aving yer!’ As he passed Louise’s seat, he caught her eye. ‘Sorry to disturb you, luv.’ He gave a cheeky wink. ‘I saw you deep in thought – or were you having a crafty little kip, eh?’

Louise smiled. ‘A bit of both.’

‘Had a busy day, ’ave yer?’

‘Busy enough.’

Still chatting with Louise and not looking where he was going, the conductor was flung forward as he tripped over a young man’s legs that were stretched out in the gangway. Composing himself, he straightened his unkempt hair and gave a little embarrassed cough. ‘You’d best tuck ’em in, matey,’ he warned, ‘afore you cause a nasty accident.’

Disgruntled, the youth did as he was asked, albeit with a sour face and surly manner.

‘Young buggers these days,’ the conductor chuntered softly to Louise, ‘they think the world revolves round ’em, so they do!’ As he continued forward, clanking his ticket machine and chatting to the other few passengers on the tram, it was just as well he didn’t see the look the young man gave him.

A murderous glare if ever there was one, Louise thought to herself.

Collecting her bags, Louise made her way to the exit, at the same time helping an old lady who was jostled and unsteadied by the lurching of the tram as it meandered along the line. ‘Thank you, dear.’ Small and frail, with seemingly poor eyesight, the old lady leaned heavily on Louise’s arm. ‘I don’t usually go out on my own,’ she went on, happy that somebody should take the time to listen to her. ‘My sister normally comes with me to the shops, but she’s not been well lately . . . fell over and sprained her ankle, she did. I’m allus telling her, “tek your time, Annie, you don’t have to run everywhere”, but will she listen? No, she won’t!’

At the thought of her beloved sister, the prettiest of smiles crossed her wizened features. ‘She meks me mad at times, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

Louise helped her off the tram. ‘I’ll be all right now, dear,’ the old woman told her. ‘I’d best get home and see what she’s up to. Knowing her, she’s probably up the chimney with a long brush, filling herself and the house with soot. She’s done it before when I’ve been out. By! I’ll have a word or two to say if she’s at it again!’

With that she set off at a sedate pace, across the boulevard and on towards Ainsworth Street.

When she realised that the old dear was about to try and cross the busy road on her own, Louise set off after her. ‘No! Wait a minute, I’ll see you across!’

Unfortunately, as Louise made for the old woman, so did the bad-mannered young man – but with a very different intent. In the split second when the old woman turned to see why Louise was calling her, the surly young fellow from the tram came at her like a bull at a gate; the impact sent her reeling backwards, and her shopping bags went crashing to the ground. Sweeping up her handbag as it fell at his feet, the young man sped off, while from somewhere behind, the cry went up, ‘Thief! Grab the bastard!’

When a policeman appeared out of nowhere across his path, the young man skidded to a halt. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, almost colliding with Louise, who was running to help the old dear. She saw her chance, swung her shopping bag at him, and caught him on the knee with it. He went down, taking her with him, and in the scuffle that followed, she managed to swing her bag and hit him again, by which time the policeman and a pair of burly passers-by had him by the scruff of the neck.

‘You did well, missus,’ one of them told Louise.

‘Lost all me apples though,’ she panted, and groaned to see her freshly picked apples rolling into the gutter. When he offered to collect them for her, she laughed out loud. ‘Thanks all the same, but no,’ she said graciously. ‘Every dog in Blackburn must have done his dirty business in that gutter. Never mind though.’ She thought of Eric and how he had helped her pick the apples that very morning. ‘There’s plenty more where they came from.’

When the handbag was returned intact and the ruffian had been marched off to answer for stealing it, Louise escorted the old lady safely across the road. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she enquired. After all, she thought, the ordeal must have shaken her badly.

‘I’m fine, dear,’ the woman answered in sprightly manner. Then, to Louise’s surprise, she laughed out loud. ‘Wait till I tell my sister,’ she chuckled. ‘Tackled to the ground by a thief, and saved by a pretty young woman.

Louise was flattered but realistic. ‘Not so young these days. Too much water under the bridge, more’s the pity.’ It hardly seemed possible that she was coming up to her thirty-sixth birthday.

‘You might not think so, but you’re young next to me!’ The old dear leaned forward, so no one else could hear. ‘I’ll tell you summat else if you like?’ she confided wickedly.

‘Oh, and what’s that?’ Louise was intrigued.

‘You’ve got nicer legs than I ever had, and you wear prettier drawers than I do an’ all.’ She giggled like a naughty child. ‘All blue and frilly. I saw ’em when you were rolling about on the ground with that devil.’

‘Oh, did you now?’ Louise had to laugh. ‘They’re nothing special . . . two and sixpence on Blackburn Market, but you’re right – they are pretty.’

‘It just goes to show, doesn’t it, dear?’

‘What does?’ Louise had taken a liking to her.

The other woman wagged her finger. ‘You must never go out without your drawers on. You never know when you might be suddenly upended, showing your bare arse to all and sundry.’

Before a shocked Louise could respond, the old dear was hobbling away down the street, singing to herself and clutching her bag so tightly it would take a steam train to wrench it from her.

Gripping her own bags more tightly than usual, Louise quickened her steps towards Derwent Street. By! She couldn’t wait to tell Jinnie and Sal about her exciting escapade. No more than she could wait to hear what the two of them had been up to!

She glanced behind her to see the old lady rounding the comer and, recalling her cheeky words, she laughed out loud, instantly embarrassed when a fat lady with two children glanced curiously her way. ‘It’s been a nice day,’ Louise said lamely, and without replying, the woman quickly ushered her children on before her.

‘Please yourself,’ Louise shrugged, but the smile was already creeping over her pleasant features again. Amazed that such a sweet little old lady could use such ripe language, Louise chuckled all the way home.

The ritual had begun two years ago when she was eight years old, after Louise had gone to work with Eric Forester on Maple Farm. At four o’clock, the girl would rush home from school and help her Granny Sally to prepare the tea, after which she would go outside and perch on the front step with her arms wrapped round her knees, her head laid down against them, and her intense gaze focused on the bottom end of Derwent Street.

Her mam would usually appear by five o’clock, when Jinnie would give out a whoop of joy and run down the street to meet her. There wasn’t a soul thereabouts who wasn’t touched by their very special relationship. Very few people knew how Jinnie’s own mother had deserted her as a newborn babe, and how Louise had fought tooth and nail to adopt the child and bring her up as her own. Thankfully, those few were trustworthy and kept the secret to themselves.

The period following her sister Susan’s disappearance after the double murders had not been easy for Louise. For a long time, the gossip raged on, curtains twitched and every eye was turned in her direction. Questions were muttered. Was it possible that Louise had not miscarried with her husband Ben’s child after all? In which case, was Jinnie really her true daughter? Or on the other hand, did Jinnie belong to Louise’s sister, Susan – a wild and careless girl, carrying a child out of wedlock. All along, Susan had refused to name the man who made her pregnant; not even her own family knew who the father was.

True to character, it was rumoured that one day she just ran off, and was never seen again. It was also rumoured that she had given birth to a daughter, who she then deserted. Others said that wasn’t the case, and that Susan had gone away with the child still in her belly. Those who were privileged to know the truth gave support to these rumours, in order to protect the child.

The speculation continued for several years . . . who was this child, now raised as Louise’s own? Where was Susan? Why did she run away? It was a mystery. So many burning questions, and as yet, no answers. However, with the passage of time, folks got on with the ups and downs of their own lives. Familiar neighbours came and went and empty houses began to fill with strangers. Gradually, the curiosity waned, especially as those who knew the family could see with each passing day how little Jinnie had the same handsome smile and winning ways as Louise’s late husband, Ben Hunter.

Blissfully unaware of her complicated background, Jinnie was a happy young girl, loved by all who knew her. To this day, she had no idea that the woman she believed to be her mammy was really her Aunt Louise. And as far as she was aware, her father Ben had died in an accident soon after she was born.

The sorry truth was that her real mother, Susan – the wayward, selfish girl who had always envied her sister Louise’s happy marriage – had enjoyed a brief but shameful coupling with Ben on the night of his death. Jinnie was the result of that evening.

Louise herself was not entirely innocent in all of this. The day would never come when she would entirely forgive or forget her own part in having triggered the tragedy that cost her husband his life.

‘Cold, are you, lass?’ Unbeknown to Jinnie, her granny had come to the front door. Aged now, and withered at the jowls, Sally was a kind old soul; her whole life was wrapped up in Louise and this child. ‘D’yer want me to fetch you a coat?’

Turning her head to smile up at her, Jinnie answered warmly, ‘No, thanks, Gran. I’m all right, honestly.’ She saw how the old woman was wearing only a thin cardigan over her dress. ‘You go in though,’ she urged. ‘We don’t want you catching pneumonia.’

Grinning widely, Sally shook her head. ‘By! You’re more of an old woman than I am,’ she declared. ‘You’ll be asking me next if I’ve tekken me medicine.’

‘And have you?’ Jinnie grinned, well aware of how Sally would find any excuse not to take her cough medicine.

‘Not yet, but I will.’

‘Promise?’

Sally nodded.

‘Say it then!’

Her granny laughed out loud. ‘Yer a little bully, so yer are!’

‘Say it!’

‘All right.’ Loudly tutting, the old lady groaned, ‘I promise.’

‘That’s all right then.’ Satisfied, Jinnie turned away to watch for her mammy.

Sally returned to the front parlour, where she stopped by the window; the contented smile resting on her face. ‘By! Yer a little darling, so yer are.’ She thought of Louise and all the events that had overwhelmed them for so many years. When things were at their worst, it was the child who gave them hope for the future. Jinnie had been the shining light in their lives.

For a long time she stood there, her old eyes on the child, and her heart heavy. Lately, she had found it hard to sleep, forever wondering what might become of the girl. ‘By, lass, what shall we do, eh?’ Her eyes welled with tears. ‘Yer a little innocent, allus there for yer mammy an’ yer grandma. Yer never question owt that’s told yer. So long as you’ve a mammy to love yer, an’ strong arms to hold yer tight, it seems there’s nowt else in the world as matters to yer.’

She gave a long, withering sigh. ‘I’m glad I’ll not be the one to shatter yer warm little world, lass. I only wish to God yer didn’t need to be told at all, but yer do. It’s only right. No matter how painful the truth might be, nobody should keep yer birthright from yer. Not me, and not Louise.’ Hard facts, but facts all the same.

Returning to the kitchen, Sally deliberately busied herself. Opening the oven she drew out the steak pie and carefully dotted it with butter. She then returned it to brown and afterwards, set about mashing the potatoes. That done, she scooped the resulting creamy whirl into an oblong earthenware dish, and placed it on the top shelf of the oven for the peaks to crisp. She strained the carrots and left them lidded to keep them warm; swilled the teapot with hot water for the third time, and checked that the table was set properly for their meal.

And all the while, unsettled and worried, she muttered to herself, ‘By! Yer a wrong ’un, Susan Holsden. You and my Ben, fornicating behind Louise’s back – an’ now look what you’ve done to that little lass out there. How d’yer think she’ll feel when she finds out what happened? Shamed an’ disgusted, that’s how she’ll feel, the same as me – especially when she knows how her mammy walked away from her without a second thought. All these years an’ never a word. Not a letter nor a card to ask after the child.’

Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘For all that bugger cares, the child could be buried down in the churchyard alongside her daddy!’

Clapping the palms of her hands over the flat of her knees, she groaned, a low, shivering sound that seemed to come from her very soul. Jesus, Mary an’ Joseph, what two sons did I raise, eh? A pair o’ divils an’ no mistake. One as cheats on his wife and then kills ’isself, an’ the other who’d sell his soul to the divil if the price were right . . .’ Suddenly realising what she had said, she leaned back in the chair, her eyes wide open and a look of horror on her face.

Pressing the flat of her hand to her mouth, she cried out, the words emerging in a muffled, ‘May God forgive me. They were my sons, Lord rest their souls.’ She sat up straight, instinctively unrepentant, a hint of defiance marbling her voice. ‘No! Why should it be me as begs forgiveness? ’Tweren’t me as misbehaved. ‘Tweren’t me as carried on outside me marriage. No! When it came right down to it, them two buggers were their own worst enemies!’ Her voice shook with emotion. ‘Why did yer do it, Ben? Why?’

For most of his life, she had expected the worst of Jacob, because he was one of those people who were born bad. But Ben had made her proud. He had been a good son, kind, loyal, hardworking. But now, the things he had done . . . taking his own life and everything, would haunt her for ever.

After a while, unable to rest, she went back into the front room where, like Jinnie, she began watching for Louise. ‘Come on, lass,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Where the devil are yer?’ It wasn’t like her daughter-in-law to be late.

Opening the side window, she saw how Jinnie had not moved, her head still to one side and her knees under her chin. Nor would she move until Louise turned that corner. Such devotion filled Sally’s old heart. ‘By, lass,’ she called out, ‘you’ll get piles sitting on that cold step.’

‘I’m all right, Gran,’ Jinnie told her.

‘Come in for a while. Happen yer mammy got caught up in some overtime. If that’s the case she’ll likely be some time yet.’

‘I can wait.’

Sally shook her head. She had no doubt the lass would wait. Even if her little bottom got stuck to the step and she slept where she sat. ‘Right then, I’m away inside for a brew.’ But she didn’t go, not yet. Instead she stood there, watching the girl and growing anxious. No one was more aware of the dangers in not telling the child the truth about her parentage. ‘Mek no mistake, you’ll ’ave to be told soon,’ she murmured, ‘afore some big-mouthed bully finds out and uses it to torment yer!’

Just then, Jinnie sensed that her grandma was still up at the window. Looking round she wanted to know, ‘What’s the time now, Gran?’

Sally glanced at the mantelpiece clock. ‘Half-past five,’ she answered. ‘Happen she’ll not be long now.’

Contented, the girl looked away and continued her vigil.

Closing the window, Sally heaved another long sigh. ‘Poor little bugger! I don’t envy yer mam having to tell you the truth of how yer came into this world.’ She felt a shiver of fear. ‘I only hope it won’t send yer down the wrong path, lass, ’cause yer a fine young thing. It would be such a pity if we were to raise a terrible resentment in yer.’

The thought of Jinnie having to share a burden of guilt that was none of her making was a real heartache to the old woman, and more so to Louise.

The minutes ticked away and still the girl sat watching. It was amost six o’clock when suddenly there was a shout of, ‘She’s here, Grandma. Me mam’s here!’

Having rounded the corner, Louise was not surprised to see Jinnie running down the street at full pelt. ‘Whoa! Hang on, love!’ Catching Jinnie as she tripped headlong into her arms, Louise asked, ‘Where’s the fire then, eh?’

‘You’re late!’

‘I’ve a good reason to be late.’

‘Why?’

‘Come on. I’ll tell you later.’

Content in each other’s company, they walked back together, with Louise lost in thoughts. . .