Love Me or Leave Me

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

Will her past ever leave her be?

Love Me or Leave Me is a passionate and moving saga about a young woman who is ready to fight for a chance of happiness, from bestselling author Josephine Cox. Perfect for fans of Lyn Andrews and Cathy Sharp.

'A lovely romance' - Mirror

Beautiful Eva Bereton has just three close friends: Patsy, whom she looks upon as a sister; Bill, once her childhood sweetheart, now married and living in Canada; and her mother, to whom she is devoted. When a tragic accident turns Eva's world upside down, Patsy is the only one she can turn to.

A hated figure from the past comes to reclaim the farm and business that Eva had always believed were her parents'. Not even Bill, still in love with Eva, can stop Eva being thrown out on the streets. Together with Patsy, Eva starts a new life far away.

Luckily, they find work and lodgings wherever they settle. But when Eva arrives in Blackburn her past mistakes rise up to haunt her. Yet even when threatened from all sides Eva will never accept that her chances of happiness have been destroyed. Determined and optimistic, she fights on to change her life for the better.

What readers are saying about Love Me or Leave Me:

'I couldn't put it down. The characters were amazing and the ending was true to life'

'What a lovely read. Heart-breaking at times but heart-warming at others. A must read'

'I started this lovely book and read it over two days, just couldn't put it down. A lovely story about friendship and love, and always having the strength to carry on'

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 237

Sample

Through her pain, Eva looked at him, her quiet green eyes betraying nothing of what she felt. She didn’t speak. She knew from bitter experience that to utter even one word would only send him into a greater fury. So, her heart pounding, she stood, head high, unflinching. Silently defiant.

Father and daughter faced each other as they had done so many times over the past two years. Many emotions passed between them: anger, love, guilt, and a sorrow too deep to voice.

He was the first to shift his gaze. ‘Where is she?’

She turned away.

His voice followed her, low and threatening, ‘Answer me, you bugger.’

She swung round and stared at him, her silence like a painful physical presence.

Momentarily subdued, he could not draw his gaze from hers. The quiet pride in those beautiful green eyes touched his heart. In spite of what she might believe, he had always loved her; always believed she was special. There was a time when his whole world centred round this lovely creature. Now, with her eyes on him, he felt like a criminal. Once she had smiled on him, and he on her. Once there was a close and unique bond between them. Now, there was nothing.

He remembered the child she had been, filled with the joys of life, delighting in all around her; he recalled the sound of her girlish laughter, the way her young eyes sparkled whenever she saw something new – a bright flower peeping through the ground after a hard winter, a glowing sunset that lit the sky with a halo of dazzling colour. And he would never forget the look on her face when he had let her cradle a newlaid chick in the palm of her tiny hand. How gentle and caring she had been, and how desperately he had loved that darling child.

The memories unfolded and the tears were close, but he pushed them deep inside himself. All that was a lifetime ago. Before the accident. Before he ceased being a man. God Almighty! Why did it have to happen? Life was cruel. But then so was he. He had turned his resentment on his wife and only child, tormenting and hurting them as if they were to blame when it was no more their fault than it was his. Guilt overwhelmed him. He alone had destroyed the wonder that lit her eyes.

In a soft, repentant voice that took her by surprise, he asked, ‘Do you love me, Eva?’

She hesitated.

‘The truth, mind,’ he urged. ‘I need to know.’

She lowered her gaze. She never wanted to hurt him.

‘You’ve never lied to me,’ he persisted. ‘Don’t lie to me now.’ He paused, fearing her answer, yet knowing what it must be. ‘Eva, do you love me, like you used to?’

‘No, Father.’ She raised her eyes. They were immensely sad, the gaze profoundly honest. ‘I don’t love you the way I used to.’ Admitting it broke her heart. ‘I’m so sorry, Father.’ Once, a lifetime ago, she had loved him like no other being on earth. Now, he was like a stranger.

He bowed his head. ‘You hate me then?’

‘No, I don’t hate you.’ Love and hate were powerful, draining emotions. Eva had learned to suppress them well. But the sadness, the regrets, were always with her.

He felt her sorrow, and it was more than he could bear. Pain returned, and with it the rage. ‘Where the bloody hell is my breakfast?’

‘I’ll get it for you now.’

She half turned, only to be stopped by a vicious blow on the shoulder. ‘I don’t want you to get me anything!’ he snarled. ‘How do I know you won’t poison it?’

Angry that he should have lashed out at her yet again, her response was swift and condemning. ‘You’re a nasty, spiteful devil. You don’t deserve any breakfast.’

‘Go and find your mother, damn your eyes.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because if you don’t, I might just smash everything she values more than she does me.’ To make his point, he jabbed his walking stick at a small blue vase until it rocked back and forth on the mantelpiece. ‘She wouldn’t thank you for not fetching her then, would she, eh?’

Eva caught the vase before it fell to the floor. She gave him a withering glance. ‘Hand me the stick and I’ll fetch her.’ Her voice was low, trembling with anger.

‘I’ll give you the stick all right, you bugger!’ he growled. ‘Across your bloody legs, that’s where.’ Falling back into the chair like an old sack, he began whimpering, ‘I’m ill. Fetch her. Tell her she’s needed. Go on! Get a move on, damn you.’

Aware that he had the ability to bring on his own crippling pain whenever it suited him, Eva carefully replaced the vase, gave him a glance that warned, ‘Don’t touch it’, and then swiftly departed.

Quickening her steps through the old farmhouse with its damp walls and low wooden beams, she went into the yard, glad to breathe the fresh summer air. She ran down the crooked pathway and on across the field, heading for the long barn beyond the orchard.

Her mother would be there, she was sure of it.

Taking a moment to throw the kindling into the wicker basket, she stretched her aching back, groaning in a soft northern voice, ‘God help us! Me bones feel like they’ve been stretched on the rack, so they do!’

She looked up as the sun disappeared behind dark clouds; the heavens suddenly threatened rain and the air, too, had taken on a cold mood. ‘July is always unpredictable,’ she muttered. ‘One minute blazing sunshine, the next yer arse is freezing.’ She shrugged. ‘Seems to me we’ll be needing more kindling than this little lot.’ She glanced at the half-filled basket. ‘It’s hard work an’ no mistake. What I need is a good strong feller to help me out.’ She shook her head, thinking of her husband, Marcus, a man she still loved in spite of everything. ‘I had the finest man alive,’ she murmured, ‘but that was a lifetime ago.’

She fell into a deep, brooding silence, not for the first time wishing with all her heart that things had not turned out the way they had. Now, that same ‘fine’ man was crippled inside and out, heart and soul smothered by pain and resentment. The burden was not only his; it was hers too, and Eva’s. He had only made matters worse by being bitter and hurtful towards her and the girl. Two years ago, before the tractor had pinned Marcus beneath it, causing damage to his back and legs, their lives had been fairly comfortable. Now the responsibility of keeping a roof over their heads had fallen to her and Eva, and the burden was a heavy one. Yet she tried to keep a happy heart.

‘Get on with yer work now,’ she chided herself, ‘before the man himself comes crawling after you on his knees.’ She knew he was capable of such a thing. She glanced nervously towards the orchard; from here she couldn’t see the house, but her thoughts carried her there, to the sitting room where she had left the two of them earlier. ‘I hope he’s not being too difficult with the girl.’ She knew from experience how hurtful he could be.

Determined now to return as quickly as possible, she raised the axe again and while she worked, she sang.

Like Eva, she loved to sing. There was a time when Marcus used to sit and listen while she and Eva entertained him with folksongs her old granddaddy had taught her. She would always remember those times with delight. Now, though, it was forbidden to sing in the house, so whenever she worked outside, her voice would lift in song to help her through the long, hard days.

She swung the axe in time to the melody, unaware that Eva, half hidden by the trunk of an old apple tree, had paused to listen to her.

The song she sang was ‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen’. The words and melody evoked many bitter-sweet memories in Eva. As the poignant words filled her troubled soul, she was transported back over the years to when her mother was young and carefree and her father a strong, wonderful man. On a winter’s night he would sit before a warm, cheery fire while his wife and daughter sang to him. Afterwards there would be clapping and laughter, and lots of hugs and kisses.

Now, while her mother sang, Eva cried soft, helpless tears that ran down her face and dampened the collar of her blouse.

After a while she wiped her eyes, composed herself and joined in the song, as she hurried towards her mother.

Colette laughed out loud. ‘You never could resist joining in, you bugger! Not even when you were small enough to sit on yer mammy’s knee.’ Colette gazed fondly at her daughter; she saw such loveliness and promise in Eva. The girl was already a beauty, but not in a bold, striking way. She was a quiet young woman, very self-assured and strong-willed.

Like her mother, Eva was small and strong, but while Colette had light brown eyes, her daughter’s were the colour of a deep, calm sea, sometimes green, sometimes darkest blue, always beautiful. Her waist-long hair was the colour of ripened corn, her skin smooth and gently tanned by the many hours she spent outside in God’s fresh air. Eva was a simple girl, with simple tastes. She loved the countryside with a fierce, abiding passion. An only child, caught between her parents and with no desire for material things, this place and the countryside around were her only real sources of contentment.

As she studied her, Colette noticed the trickle of blood running from Eva’s hairline. Her features hardened. ‘Did your father do that?’

‘It’s nothing.’

Reaching out, Colette pushed back the long fair hair. The gash was deeper than she had thought. ‘To the stream,’ she urged, and pushed Eva forward.

At the stream, the two of them knelt on the hard ground while Colette used the cuff of her blouse to wash away the blood. ‘Sometimes yer father can be a right bastard!’

After a moment or two, Eva drew away. ‘It’s just a scratch,’ she said.

‘What’s his excuse this time?’ Colette asked as they walked back to the barn.

Helping her mother gather the kindling, Eva was careful not to alarm her. ‘He wants you home, that’s all.’

‘Oh, aye? Let me guess. He’s thrown his breakfast across the room and threatened to skin yer alive if yer don’t do as he says.’

‘He says he’s ill. He needs you.’

‘I see.’ With a knowing smile, Colette threw the last of the kindling into the basket. ‘Then I’d best get back, eh?’ She would have heaved the basket across her shoulders, but Eva took it from her, swinging it easily to her own shoulders.

She said, ‘Maybe he really is ill this time.’

Colette shook her head. ‘Somehow, I don’t think so. Yer father’s been hurt and he’s often in great pain, but he’s never ill.’ She looked up wistfully. ‘Except in his mind.’

The two of them set off back to the house.

‘I thought to leave him sleeping until I’d finished chopping the wood. Did he wake in a foul mood?’

Eva gave a half-smile. ‘You could say that.’

‘Refused his breakfast?’

Eva nodded.

‘Threatened all and sundry if yer didn’t fetch me?’

‘That’s about right.’

‘What was it this time?’

‘Your best china.’ Eva gave her mother a sideways glance, her lips twitching in a smile.

‘The vase, eh?’

‘The same.’

Colette nodded. ‘The wily old bugger knows how to get his own way.’ Then she grinned. ‘I wonder what the old devil would say if he knew the vase was worth no more than the price of a pint.’

Eva laughed out loud. ‘It’s not him who’s the wily old bugger, it’s you!’

‘I have to be one step ahead of him,’ Colette answered with a wink. ‘An’ if the ol’ misery catches on to the vase trick, I’ve one or two more up me sleeve, so don’t you worry.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried.’ And she wasn’t.

‘Never let a man know what yer up to,’ Colette said knowingly. ‘Keep ’em guessing, that’s what I say.’ She gave Eva a nudge. ‘Did I ever tell yer about the first time me and yer daddy made love?’

‘No, you never did.’ Shyness flooded her soul.

‘It was in a field, right over a hornets’ nest. Talk about panic!’ She began chuckling. ‘I’ve never heard such language in all me life. An’ believe me, if you’ve never seen a naked man running full pelt through the hedgerows with a swarm of hornets after him, well, you’ve never lived!’

‘Were you badly stung?’ Eva couldn’t help but smile.

‘Stung?’ Colette’s brown eyes rolled. ‘Everywhere yer could possibly think of. Yer daddy came off worse though. One angry hornet attacked his nether regions and he couldn’t walk straight for a week.’ Taken by a fit of giggling, she fell against a tree. ‘It damped his ardour, I can tell yer that.’

‘You’ve a wicked sense of humour,’ Eva chided. As they hurried on, the two of them were helpless with laughter and the sound of their mirth echoed through the orchard.

He heard it. And his face went dark with rage.

Eva had been looking forward to a night out with Patsy but she was worried about her mother. ‘I don’t like leaving you when he’s in this kind of mood.’

Colette sighed. ‘Yer not to worry about me an’ yer father. I know how to handle the old devil. He’ll not get the better of me.’ She gave Eva a little push. ‘Go on, lass. The sooner you’ve finished your work, the sooner you can be out of it.’

Eva wasn’t so sure. ‘We’ll see.’

Colette knew better than to press her. Eva was too much like herself to be pushed into doing something she didn’t want to do. All the same, it pained her to see how her daughter was beginning to take on more and more responsibility for her and Marcus. When all was said and done, Eva was only eighteen years old, with her whole life before her.

Colette found Marcus seated in his armchair, reading the paper and chewing on a ham sandwich. ‘It’s cold,’ he snapped, peering at her from over the paper. ‘The fire wants banking up.’

‘Why did yer need to send Eva after me?’ Taking a moment to warm her hands before the fire, she chided gently, ‘Shame on yer, Marcus. One o’ these days you’ll really be in trouble an’ nobody will believe yer.’

Crumpling the paper between his great fists, he answered in a harsh voice, ‘I was feeling badly but you didn’t care a sod, did you, eh? Took your bleedin’ time getting back here, didn’t you? For all you cared I might have been lying face down on the floor, helpless – dying even.’

‘Aye, but yer weren’t, were yer?’ More’s the pity, she thought bitterly, and was immediately filled with remorse. ‘Oh, now, I didn’t mean to sound cruel,’ she told him. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. I was up first light and me back feels like it’s broke in two.’ Coming to him with a smile, she said, ‘I hoped you’d sleep till I got back.’

‘Hoped I’d kick the bucket, you mean.’ Throwing the half-eaten sandwich to the floor, he snapped, ‘No bloody breakfast, and a cold house, that’s what greeted me when I got out of bed.’

‘The house wasn’t cold, Marcus,’ she protested. ‘I made up a good fire before I left. And Eva tells me she offered you breakfast, but you refused.’ In an effort to appease him, she said kindly, ‘I’ll get you a nice cup of tea and a hot breakfast, how does that sound?’

To her dismay, his face set in a sullen expression. ‘Don’t want it,’ he snarled. ‘I woke up feeling fit, feeling like a real man for the first time in ages. I wanted you, but you weren’t there. You’re never bloody well there when I need you.’

Misunderstanding, she answered softly, ‘Well, I’m here now, so tell me what I can do for you, an’ I’ll do it.’

‘Get back upstairs.’ His face smug, he settled more comfortably into the chair. ‘Make yourself ready and I’ll be there as soon as I’ve finished reading my paper.’ Slowly and deliberately he began straightening the battered paper.

Now she understood.

With a determination to match his own, she quietly refused. ‘No, Marcus.’

‘What’s that you say?’ He couldn’t believe his ears.

Colette stood her ground. ‘I’ve been up since first light. I’ve washed a pile of clothes and hung them out, gathered the eggs, set the shop out ready for Patsy, and chopped enough wood to see us through the week. I’ve worked myself into the ground. I’m cold and tired, and I need a bath. So when I’ve got you a hot breakfast, I mean to soak me aching bones. Afterwards, I’ll give Eva a hand with the day’s chores so she can take herself off for an evening out with Patsy.’ Struggling to control her anger, she reminded him, ‘God knows, the girl deserves it.’

While she talked, his face grew white, his thick, misshapen fingers gripping the arms of the chair. There was murder in his eyes as he said in a low voice, ‘I don’t think you heard me, so I’ll say it again. Get upstairs and make yourself ready!’

Afraid but defiant, she resisted. ‘It’s no use you getting yerself into one of yer fits. I won’t go upstairs for you, and I won’t make myself ready, as you call it. What I will do is bank up the fire then make your breakfast.’ She smiled at him. ‘I expect yer feeling a bit miserable, what with me out all hours doing this or that, and the pair of us never being able to sit and talk the way we used to.’ She chatted on, looking away as she said, ‘With a hot meal inside yer belly, you might be in a better mood.’

She turned to the fireplace and stooped to pile some logs in a semi-circle over the coals. The flames leaped high, licking at the fire-back. ‘There now, isn’t that cosy?’ She turned to the chair where he’d been sitting.

He wasn’t there.

For a moment she was confused, then she looked up and here he was, standing to one side of the fireplace, his arm resting on the mantelpiece and his face grinning down on her. ‘I can move quick as a snake when I’ve a mind.’

‘I can see that,’ she acknowledged suspiciously. ‘What else can you do that you’ve never told me about?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’

She didn’t reply. Oddly disturbed, she continued to look up at him. There was something about his manner that frightened her; the way he lurked close, the way he spoke, soft yet not gentle. And his eyes – small, dark eyes that she knew like the image of her own face. She had seen those eyes smile on her, and she had seen them crumple in pain, but she had never seen them as they were now, rock-hard and staring, alive with hatred.

‘Don’t be angry,’ she murmured. She often put his needs before her own and gave way to his demands, for the sake of peace, but this time she was so bone-weary she couldn’t face having him roll on top of her.

Reaching down, he took hold of her arm, pinching it so hard she gave a small cry. ‘You’ll never see the day when I’m too crippled to take a woman,’ he growled. ‘So it’s either up in the bedroom or on the floor here and now.’ He licked his lips in anticipation. ‘What’s it to be then, my lovely?’

‘Take yer hands off me!’ Sometimes, it was more than she could cope with. Marcus was not the same man she had married all those years ago. That man was dead and gone, just as surely as if the tractor had crushed the life out of him. God forgive her, there were times when she wished it had. He should be thanking the good Lord for saving his life but instead he spent every waking minute cursing the hand fate had dealt him. But, for all that, she would never desert him. In spite of his contempt for her, she would stay and make his life as bearable as possible. He was her husband for better or worse, and she had given her vows before God.

As she struggled to free herself, she said what was in her heart, her voice hard with disgust. ‘There was a time when I went weak with pleasure at the touch of yer hand, but not now, not any more. Yer not the man I married. You’re a lazy, idle bugger and, God help me, I’m stuck with yer. That’s a burden I have to live with, like it or not.’ There was fire in her eyes as she faced up to him. ‘Listen to me, for I mean every word. Yer bullying will get you nothing. I swear to Him above, I’ll die before you see me give in to yer demands ever again.’

Stunned by her outburst, he just gaped at her.

She’d gone too far to stop now, and she emptied her heart of all the bad things that had gathered these past years. ‘You take pleasure in using me and the girl to wait on yer hand and foot, when all the time yer capable of doing things for yerself. Other men have been hurt and maimed, and they don’t lie back and cosset themselves. What kind of coward is it that would blame their family for what’s happened? You can walk as well as me when you’ve a mind, and you still have the strength of ten men when it suits yer.’ She held nothing back. ‘Yer a bad, lazy feller, Marcus Bereton. Instead of whining an’ moaning, why don’t yer get out and do some of the hard work round this place? You’d be a happier man for it, and me and the girl would have a better life, and not before time neither!’

‘You dare talk to me like that?’ Marcus roared. She struggled desperately to free herself, but he pinned her down, perilously close to the fire, until the sweat ran down her face and she could hardly breathe. She began to fear for her life.

‘Let go of me, Marcus,’ she ordered, trying hard not to show her fear. ‘Yer won’t solve anything by hurting me.’

‘That’s for me to say.’ He spread his legs to balance himself and used his free hand to undo his trousers. ‘I can see I’ll have to take what I want – unless you want me to get it elsewhere.’ His eyes glittered madly. ‘The girl hasn’t had a man yet. Think on that before you refuse me again.’

His words filled her with white-hot loathing and fury, and as he laughingly bore down on her, her strength rose to match her rage. Without thinking of the consequences, she pitted herself against him.

She paused in her work, folding her arms for – warmth. The damp had crept right into her bones. Beneath her feet the flagstones felt like hard slabs of ice, and above her head the sky was clearly visible through the sagging roof. ‘The old place really needs pulling down,’ she mused. ‘But where would we get the money for a new one?’ The land gave them a living, that was all. There was no money for luxuries.

Stacking the last of the kindling, she turned the basket upside down and hung it on the peg.

She padlocked the door behind her when she left. As she slipped the big iron key into her pocket, she chuckled. ‘Anyone would think I was locking up the crown jewels.’ The shed contained crates of eggs and a selection of winter vegetables, kindling, sacks of coal and the few tools they possessed. It didn’t amount to much, but it was worth more than jewels to them.

Last winter somebody had broken into the shed and stolen a leg of pork and a fat Christmas turkey that Eva had earned picking Brussels sprouts with frozen fingers on a neighbour’s land. Colette was furious. She dug out an old padlock and from that day on the shed was secured every night, though she had to agree with Eva that if anyone really wanted to get in, all they had to do was sneeze hard and the whole place would tumble like a pack of cards.

As Eva made her way back to the house, she thought she heard a scream. Unsure, she paused to listen. When she heard it again, she realised with horror that it was her mother’s voice. ‘Dear God! What’s he doing to her?’ As she broke into a run, she heard Colette call her name and her heart froze with fear. ‘Please God, let it be all right,’ she prayed as she flew down the path and burst, breathless, into the house.

Kneeling on the floor, with Colette in his arms, her father rocked back and forth, his face buried in his wife’s hair. Colette lay limp and quiet, her dress burned, her face smudged and dirtied. Flames licked up the walls, caught hold of the curtains and fired the ceiling. The smoke was suffocating.

‘Get out, Father!’ Surging forward, Eva took hold of him by the shoulders. ‘The fire’s out of control, we have to get out!’ She tried to loosen his hold on her mother, but his grip was like iron.

‘Why wouldn’t she listen?’ he gasped. The tears ran down his face, making thin pink tracks through the soot on his skin. ‘I didn’t mean to hit her . . . didn’t know she would fall backwards . . . the fire took her.’ He could hardly speak for the smoke f. . .