More than Riches

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

No.1 bestselling writer, Josephine Cox, is 'one of the country's best-loved storytellers' (Prima). More Than Riches is a heartrending novel of love, loss and redemption. A classic that will appear to fans of Catherine Cookson and Rosie Goodwin.

'Cox's talent as a storyteller never lets you escape' Daily Mail

When Rosie's parents were involved in a train accident, her mother was killed and her father left crippled, unable to earn a living and relying on Rosie to keep the wolf from the door.

With her mother gone and her sweetheart Adam away in the army, Rosie is lonely. She eagerly awaits the letters from him, but they never come. As she grows more disillusioned, Adam's best friend Doug goes out of his way to be charming and attentive. Alone and confused, Rosie blossoms under his evil influence. Soon she is carrying Doug's baby and her father has thrown her out of the house. Realising she has no choice, she agrees to marry Doug.

As if she isn't in enough trouble, Rosie's whole world falls apart when a warm and wonderful letter arrives from Adam . . . telling her he's on his way home.

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 432

Sample

‘Rosie?’ The whisper of her name on his lips only made her realise what she had lost.

She didn’t answer. Nor did she look at him. In her tortured mind she believed that if she ignored him it might be easier to pretend he wasn’t there.

‘Rosie!’ This time there was a note of urgency in his voice, a rush of anger.

In the ill-lit street, the sound of their footsteps tapping against the pavement made a peculiar melody. Through tearful eyes, she stared at the ground beneath their feet; the hard shiny cobblestones stretched before them like hundreds of newly baked loaves brushed with milk. It had been a glorious June day, and now the evening was sultry, closing about them like the protective arms of a lover.

‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ His voice was closer now, his head bent to hers. ‘You’ve been like this all day. If there’s something on your mind, you’d best speak up now, because I’m sick and tired of this cat and mouse game.’ Pressing his hand to her arm, he brought her to a halt. Swinging her round to face him, he demanded angrily, ‘I mean it, Rosie. You’d best speak up, because I’ve had enough of your bloody moods.’

She regarded him with distaste. ‘Want to know all my thoughts, do you?’

Realising he’d said the wrong thing, he cunningly changed tack. ‘’Course I don’t, but you’re so quiet tonight, sweetheart.’ His voice was entreating. He didn’t want to spoil his chances. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’ he asked. ‘Something I’ve said?’ Whenever he was close to her, the urge to make love was strong. It was strong now.

‘No, it’s not your fault,’ she assured him. If anything, the fault was hers. He was just a man, and in all truth he had done nothing that she could reproach him for. Yet, in that moment when he tenderly propelled her backwards, leaning with her against the vicarage wall and whispering softly to her, she knew she could never love him in the way she had loved before.

Oh, he was handsome enough. Even though he was small in build, and barely taller than Rosie herself, there was something uniquely attractive about him. He possessed the most beautiful, sinister eyes: one as blue as cornflowers, the other as green as the ocean. His dark brown hair was thick and long to his ears, and he walked with a proud bearing. He could be incredibly charming, able to make a woman feel special and seduce her without her even realising it.

That was how it had begun with Rosie. She’d been swept off her feet, and only now did she realise the enormity of what she had done.

‘I want you.’

‘Not here, Doug.’ It wasn’t what she wanted to say. What she really wanted to say was: ‘Don’t lay a finger on me. Don’t ever again lay a finger on me.’ But she was wise enough to know that rejecting him now would not solve anything. It was too late for that.

‘Why not here?’ he argued. When she looked up at him like that, she stirred his every sense. In the lamplight, her brown eyes were softly beautiful. ‘We won’t be seen, I promise you,’ he pleaded. ‘There’s not a soul about.’

Torn by guilt and still deeply disturbed by the letter which had arrived in the morning post, she pushed him off. ‘No, Doug!’

‘You didn’t say that before.’

‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ She ruefully smiled at the memory, hating herself, hating him. That was when it had all started to go wrong.

Mistaking her smile for an expression of affection, he leaned down to stroke her bare leg. ‘You’re so lovely,’ he whispered. He felt confident enough to take her now. Sliding his hand beneath her skirt, he pushed upwards with probing fingers, quickly sliding them between the softer crevice of her thighs. ‘You’re ready for me now, aren’t you?’ he murmured breathlessly. He was so excited he could hardly wait. With his other hand he fumbled at his trouser buttons.

With her legs now pushed open, and his moist tongue lightly following the curve of her ear, Rosie couldn’t deny that she was ready for him. When all was said and done, she was still a woman, warm-blooded, with needs much like his. Turning on him now would be tantamount to destroying herself, and what would that solve? Her mood became defiant. Why shouldn’t he make love to her? As she recalled, it had been good before, so why shouldn’t it be good now?

She felt herself responding. It was all the encouragement he needed. ‘Open up, sweetheart,’ he whispered harshly, at the same time pushing up through her knicker leg. It was when she felt him against her inner thigh that she knew she couldn’t give herself to him. Not tonight. Not any night, if she had her way.

‘Take me home,’ she snapped. ‘Have you no shame, Doug Selby? Are we a pair of curs, to mate in the street? Are we, eh?’ A great tide of raging energy coursed through her as she thrust him off. When he stumbled backwards, with his penis jutting out like the sign over the pawn-shop window, a sense of the ridiculous made her want to laugh out loud.

‘Christ Almighty! What are you trying to do to me?’ he groaned, rubbing one hand over his face and making low guttural sounds as though in the throes of deepest agony. ‘You want it as much as me, I know you do,’ he pleaded. Reaching out, he touched her on the neck.

The feel of his damp trembling hand had a startling effect on her.

‘LEAVE ME ALONE!’

Shocked and limp now, he began yanking his trousers together, anger in his voice. ‘What the hell’s the matter now?’

‘I don’t want you treating me like a whore, that’s all,’ she snapped. ‘I asked you to take me home, and if you don’t want to that’s all right by me. I can take myself!’ Quickly straightening her skirt, she brushed past him, half running to put as much distance between them as she could. She could hear him yelling, cursing her at the top of his voice. ‘To hell with you an’ all, Doug Selby,’ she called back. Tears ran down her face. Tears of shame, and guilt, and frustration. She was trapped, and there was no way out.

Rosie was halfway down the street when he came chasing after her. ‘Hey! It isn’t me who’s at fault here. It’s you. You’ve been down in the dumps all day, and now, for no reason at all that I can see, you fly off the handle. What am I supposed to do, eh? Tell me that.’

By the time he’d caught up with her, she had taken off her high-heeled shoes and was sitting on the horse trough outside the railway station. The last train had long gone and the whole place was enveloped in an eerie silence.

When she saw him limping up the road, gasping and wheezing, she couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Look at you,’ she chuckled, ‘you’re worse than your old grandad.’ She felt in a better mood after the exhilarating run. ‘I should have thought you’d have been fitter . . . what with carting them coal-bags on your shoulders every day.’

Slumping down beside her, he took time to recover his breath. ‘Carting coal-bags might broaden your shoulders,’ he pointed out at last, ‘but it don’t prepare you for a two-mile run.’ Dropping forward, he buried his face in his hands. It was a moment before he spoke again, and when he did, it was to say in a harsh voice, ‘I want to know what’s going on? The truth, mind. Don’t take me for a bloody fool.’

‘Leave it, Doug. There’s nothing to be gained by talking about it.’ Lately her life seemed to be fraught with problems.

The look on her face told him enough. ‘It’s him, ain’t it?’ he demanded sharply. ‘I might have known.’

Rosie nodded her head. ‘We had an almighty row.’

‘Hmph!’ He slid his arm round her shoulders. ‘About me, was it?’

‘Sort of.’ She felt him pulling her towards him, and though she desperately needed comfort, couldn’t bring herself to lay her head on his shoulders.

Fortunately, he didn’t sense her resistance to him. ‘ “Sort of” . . . What does that mean?’

‘He found my diary. He knows, Doug.’

‘So what?’ He gawped at her as though she had said something astonishing. ‘I’m glad he knows. He would have found out sooner or later. Anyway, what does it matter?’

Shrugging his arm away, she stood up. ‘It may not matter to you, Doug Selby. But it matters to me.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Reaching up, he pleaded, ‘Come on, sit here. You and me were made for each other, gal. There was a time when I might have dumped you and chased something else in skirts, but, well, you’ve kind of got to me. I don’t want any other woman, not now . . . especially not now.’

‘Happen you’d be better off chasing “something else in skirts”,’ she retorted. But inside, she was more afraid than ever. Things were bad enough now, without her giving him that sort of encouragement.

‘Aw, you know I wouldn’t do that.’ Not right now he wouldn’t anyway. Maybe later, when he’d got her out of his system and boredom began to creep in. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Sit aside o’ me. I promise I won’t try it on. We’ll just have a cuddle.’ He grinned stupidly. ‘And happen a little feel, eh?’

She heard the childish sulkiness in his voice and despised him all the more. Ignoring his crude suggestion, she told him, ‘I’ve got to go and face him.’

‘What do you mean?’

She hung her head, all manner of emotions coursing through her. ‘It was awful, Doug. Dad went mad. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen, so I just ran out.’

‘He had no right looking through your diary! Who the hell does he think he is?’

‘He says he knew there was something going on, and he meant to get to the bottom of it.’

‘So he read your diary? Christ! He’s got a bloody cheek!’

‘Well, it’s done now, and there are things to be mended between us.’

‘Did you put it all in your diary . . . everything?’

‘Everything, yes.’ In the half-light her face reddened at the thought of what her father had read.

‘Bloody hell! What did you do that for?’ He recalled the night they had made love for the first time, and it shook him to think she had written all that down.

‘Because that’s what diaries are for.’ Sometimes, like now, she wondered what she had ever seen in Doug Selby.

‘Aw, to hell with him!’ He suddenly grinned. Come to think of it, he was proud of himself for that night. Happen her old man might see what kind of a man Doug Selby was after all! ‘He’s never liked me, you know that, don’t you?’ He was shouting now, growing angry. ‘I say to hell with the old sod. Serves him right if he’s suffering. It’ll teach him not to stick his nose where it’s not wanted.’

Suppressing the urge to punch him hard in the face, Rosie straightened her shoulders and turned from him. ‘You can’t blame him, Doug, it must have come as a shock. It’s my own fault. I should have told him earlier.’ In her heart she realised she should have found the courage to tell them both earlier, because there was still another to be told, and his heart would be broken just as hers was. ‘He’ll be waiting for me. I’d better go.’

‘Do you want me with you?’ He held his breath, waiting for her answer and hoping she would say no. There were some things that made him see red, and others that made him a coward.

‘No.’ She sighed noisily. ‘It’s best if I face this on my own.’

‘Okay.’ He got to his feet and draped an arm round her shoulders. When she plucked it off, he stiffened. ‘Look! I’ll come with you if you want me to,’ he offered churlishly.

‘I said no. I can manage on my own.’

‘Fair enough.’ Gripping her by the shoulders, he inclined his head to kiss her. When she resisted, he kissed her anyway. ‘Right then. Being as you’ve no need of my services, I’ll take myself off home.’

‘You do that.’

‘Don’t take no nonsense from that old bugger,’ he warned in a superior voice. She didn’t comment, so he flicked her chin with the tip of his finger. ‘We wouldn’t have been seen, you know . . . back there.’ His loins were still throbbing. He wanted her badly. But he consoled himself with the thought that soon he would have her any time he felt like it. ‘Like I said . . . tell him to go to hell,’ he suggested grandly.

‘You go to hell!’

‘You don’t mean that?’

‘Oh . . . go home, Doug!’

A sudden thought made him wary. ‘I’d best not call round for you tomorrow, eh?’

‘You’re a bloody coward, Doug Selby.’

‘Sensible, that’s all,’ he corrected. ‘It would only make things worse if I turned up on the doorstep. Whether we like it or not, your dad’s never taken to me.’

‘I wonder why?’ She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It don’t bother me.’

‘Goodnight, Doug.’ She swung away, leaving him standing there.

‘I’ll see you at the market tomorrow, eh? Midday?’ She was already at the bottom of the street. He called a little louder, ‘Don’t let the bugger get the better of you, sweetheart. If you need me, you know where I live.’

As he strode away in the opposite direction, he mumbled to himself, ‘You’ll not get me within a mile of her old man . . . not if I can help it. What! If he laid hands on me, the bugger would string me up and no messing!’

The thought quickened his feet. First he was walking, then he was stepping it out, then his boots echoed frantically against the cobbles as he took to his heels and ran.

Suddenly she found herself chuckling. ‘A fat lot of good Doug would be,’ she muttered. ‘Like as not, he’d be halfway down the street even before Dad could open his mouth.’ It had taken her some time, but at long last Rosie was seeing a different side to Doug. In the long run, though, she believed it couldn’t really change anything.

She didn’t need to use her key. The front door had been left on the latch. Inside the dimly lit passage, she took off her long white cardigan and hung it over the hook behind the door. Glancing in the hallway mirror, she patted her long brown hair, pushing it back with her hands so that it didn’t tumble over her shoulders in that wanton way Doug liked. She fastened the top button of her pretty blue blouse, and straightened her skirt, blushing with colour as she remembered Doug’s rough handling of her earlier.

‘Who’s that?’ She was visibly startled as the man’s harsh voice reached her from the back parlour. ‘Is that you, Rosie?’

‘Yes.’ She was surprised at the calmness of her own voice, especially when her stomach was churning.

‘Get in here!’

One last look in the mirror. ‘Stand up to him, gal,’ she told herself. ‘You’re twenty years old . . . a grown woman. Don’t let him bully you.’ Determination welled up in her as she went down the hallway towards the back parlour.

‘Where the hell are you? I said: GET IN HERE!’

His raised voice echoed down the passageway. All her courage vanished, and the nearer to the parlour she got, the more she wished she’d taken Doug up on his offer; however reluctantly it was given. A little moral support was better than none at all, she reasoned now.

Her father made a formidable sight indeed. A retired miner, he was a big man with a mass of iron grey hair, and pale deep-set eyes that seemed to see right through a body. ‘Where’ve you been ’til this time?’ he demanded as she appeared at the door.

He was seated in the high-backed rocking chair by the range. He didn’t look round at her, nor did he make any effort to rise from the chair. Instead, he kept it rocking back and forth, back and forth, his deep-set eyes directed towards the empty fire-grate, and his long thick fingers drumming, playing out a feverish rhythm on the curved wooden arms.

‘I thought it best to stay away for a while,’ Rosie explained quietly, ‘I thought it might give us both time to cool down.’ She stepped tentatively into the room.

‘Stay where you are. I don’t want you any nearer.’ His eyes remained focused on the empty fire-grate, and the chair continued to rock.

‘What do you mean, Dad? You don’t want me in the parlour?’

‘I don’t want you in the house.’ The sound of the rockers against the carpet made a strange swishing noise.

‘I came home to talk with you. To explain.’

‘There’s nothing to explain. I’ve sired a bad ’un, that’s all.’

‘I’m not a bad ’un, Dad!’

‘If your mother was alive, she wouldn’t walk down the street for the shame of it.’

‘I’m to be wed. There will be no shame.’

‘One bad ’un wed to another.’

‘You shouldn’t have read my diary. That was shameful.’

‘I read the letter too.’

Rosie was furious. ‘You had no right!’ she said angrily, clenching her fists and wishing she was a man. ‘How dare you read my private things?’

‘You didn’t even have the courage to tell him,’ he accused. The rockers went faster, and the eyes never flinched. ‘I always regretted never having a son, but I never thought I’d raise a bloody coward.’

It was a moment before Rosie answered. Then: ‘All right, I won’t deny I’ve been a coward, but I had my reasons.’

‘Aye. Two! Doug Selby and his bastard.’

‘The child won’t be a bastard. That’s why I’m getting wed.’

‘I hope the other one kills him. Then you won’t be getting wed, and everybody’ll know you for what you are.’

‘If, as you say, you’ve read the letter, you’ll know Adam is not a murderous man. He’s home on leave tomorrow. I’ll tell him then.’

‘Get out!’

‘What?’

‘I want nothing to do with you. I don’t want you ever to show your face round these parts again. You’ll find your things all packed . . . in the front room.’

‘You’re not thinking straight, Dad. Let’s both get a good night’s sleep, and talk about it all in the morning. I love you. I can’t just leave you.’

‘I don’t want your kind under my roof. I’ll have no part of you from now on. Get out, I said. NOW!’ The rockers were suddenly still. He turned. The deep-set eyes regarded her as though she was so much dirt under his shoe.

‘Dad . . .’ Her ears were ringing from his harsh words, yet she knew him well enough to realise that he meant every word.

He wasn’t listening. The rockers were shifting back and forth, the swishing sound all that could be heard. His eyes were turned towards the empty grate, and his big shoulders were set like stone. The time for talking was long over.

‘I’ll ask Peggy if I can stay there for the time being,’ she offered. He didn’t move a muscle. ‘All right, Dad,’ she murmured, ‘if this is what you really want.’ No reply. She was devastated.

Going into the front parlour, she collected the portmanteau. It wasn’t heavy. Four years ago her parents had been involved in a train accident. Her mother was killed, and her father partially crippled, enough to keep him out of full-time work. Her own job at the post office kept the wolf from the door, but it was never enough to buy fancy clothes and the like. Such things didn’t bother her. Rosie was a simple soul, with simple needs.

The front parlour had always been reserved for special visitors. Rosie smiled at the irony of her father placing her portmanteau in here. On the oak sideboard stood a photograph of her mother; a small woman much like Rosie herself, with brown hair and browner eyes. ‘Well, Mam,’ she told the smiling face, ‘you’ll be sorry it’s come to this. We could have talked it through, but he won’t listen. You know what he can be like. Still, happen when he’s got over the shock, he’ll see reason. But I’m not making the first move!’ She shook her head and set her mouth in a grim line. ‘It’s him that’s thrown me out, so it’s up to him to mend the breach.’

She stood there a while, tempted to take the photograph with her. But she knew her father derived great comfort from it, and so departed without it.

As she quietly opened the front door, her father’s voice boomed out, ‘LEAVE THE KEY!’ For the sake of her mam’s memory, she almost returned to reason once more with him. But she knew him too well. In the mood he was in, it was best to do as he asked.

Taking her long white cardigan from a hook on the other door, she felt in the pocket. Withdrawing the front door key, she laid it on the hallway table, then slid the cardigan over her shoulders. Taking up the portmanteau once more, she went out of the house.

The evening air had grown chilly. She shivered. It was a good walk to her friend Peggy’s house. But there would be a welcome there, she knew.

‘I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed.’

‘Ashamed?’ Peggy tutted. ‘And what are best friends supposed to be for?’ she wanted to know. ‘Since when have we ever kept secrets from each other?’

‘It wasn’t just that,’ Rosie assured her. ‘This was something I had to sort out for myself. Even if I had told you, there was nothing you could have done . . . except worry yourself sick.’ She smiled fondly. ‘And you would have worried yourself sick, wouldn’t you? Admit it?’

Peggy twisted her mouth to one side, nervously biting her top lip, just as she always did when she was lost for words. ‘I suppose so,’ she reluctantly confessed.

‘There you are then. So I’m glad I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I’m telling you now.’

‘What? You don’t trust me? You think I’ll spread it all over Blackburn?’

‘Don’t be silly. If I thought that, I wouldn’t have come here tonight. It’s a secret between you and me, and my father, of course . . . and Doug. But they won’t tell. Dad’s eaten with shame, and Doug’s promised me he won’t let on to anybody. He knows I’ll hate him if he tells.’ She half smiled. ‘No doubt he’d like to brag to the world, but I believe he’ll keep his promise to me.’

Peggy shrugged her shoulders. Not for the first time, she was tempted to challenge Rosie’s trust in that young man but, for the sake of friendship, she decided against it. ‘You really ought to try and get some sleep,’ she remarked instead.

‘I can’t.’ Rosie glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I think about everything that’s happened. My Dad . . . Doug . . . Adam . . . all the plans that have been spoiled. And not only my plans, Peggy. Dad’s right. What I’ve done is awful, and I deserve to be thrown out.’

‘Hmph! Anybody’d think you had caused the problem all by yourself. What about that rascal, Doug, eh? You’ve already agreed to wed him, more’s the pity, so I reckon that’s punishment enough.’ Rolling her huge eyes upwards, she declared grimly, ‘Your dad was wrong to do what he did. Cor! If anybody looked through my diary, I’d be hopping mad!’

Rosie was puzzled. ‘I didn’t know you kept a diary?’

‘I don’t. All I’m saying is, if I did.’

Rosie had to smile, and soon the two of them were giggling. ‘You’re a twerp, Peggy Lewis,’ Rosie told her. ‘But I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Throw yourself in the canal, like as not.’ Placing her thin hands on the parlour table, she stood up. ‘It’s four o’clock of a morning, and the pair of us will be fit for nothing come daylight, but now that you’ve woken me . . . tiptoeing down every creaky stair you could find . . . we might as well raid the pantry.’

‘Your mam was angry. I shouldn’t have put myself on you like that. After all, she’s a widow, and there’s four other children besides you in this little house. It was a bloody cheek of me to turn up like that . . . suitcase and all.’

‘Take no notice. Our mam’s bark is worse than her bite.’ She chuckled. ‘You’ll feel better when I tell you she followed me upstairs to ask how much we should charge you to stop here.’

Rosie laughed. ‘And what did you say?’

‘I told her you’d pay two shilling a week, and teach her to embroider. She’s always wanted to embroider . . . drives me mad, she does.’

Rosie was astounded. ‘You must be mad! I can’t embroider.’

‘There you are then. You can teach each other.’ Chuckling, she asked, ‘Jam butties and cocoa . . . how does that sound?’

Shaking her head in disbelief, Rosie thought it best to ignore Peggy’s little games. ‘Sounds great, but won’t your mam be angry if we raid the pantry?’

‘Not if we don’t tell her. I’ll stir the jampot afterwards, so it looks full, and you’d have to be Sherlock Holmes to miss a slice off half a loaf. As for the cocoa, I bought it myself, so there’ll be nowt said.’ As she went into the scullery, she reminded Rosie, ‘Anyway, the war’s been over nearly four years. There ain’t rationing like there used to be, thank God.’

Rosie could hear her bustling about in the scullery. She envied Peggy her peace of mind. ‘Will you come with me tomorrow?’ she called.

Peggy returned with a tray of jam butties and two steaming mugs of cocoa. ‘No, I bloody well won’t!’ she retorted. ‘There’s things to be said between you and Adam that ain’t for nobody else’s ears.’ Placing one mug and a small plate before Rosie, she added softly, ‘You’re made of good stuff, and you’re not to worry. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

Unable to stomach the jam butty, Rosie sipped at the warming cocoa. ‘I didn’t mean for you to come with me into the station,’ she explained. ‘I thought you might sit with me in the tea rooms, just until the train arrives. Then you could go.’

‘That’s very big of you,’ Peggy teased.

‘You’ll come then?’

‘’Course I will. Now, drink your cocoa and we’ll try and get a couple of hours’ sleep.’

There was little to be said for the next few minutes. Peggy was too busy polishing off the jam butties, and Rosie too steeped in thoughts of the coming ordeal.

At four-thirty, the two pals traipsed upstairs and into their respective beds. Peggy soon fell asleep, but Rosie lay awake for what seemed an age. In the soft lamplight, she read the crumpled letter time and again: My darling Rosie,
I know it’s been some time since I wrote, but, like I told you in my last letter, I had some growing up to do before settling down. I know you understand I had to get things straight in my mind, and how I needed to be out of the Army, before asking you to wed me.
I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair to you, and all these months of waiting to hear from me must have been sheer hell. But you knew I would write, and you knew I would never stop loving you. I’ve always promised we’d be wed one day. Well, sweetheart, the day’s arrived! I would have written earlier, but I wanted to surprise you.
I’m on my way home, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I’ve carried your picture next to my heart everywhere I’ve been. Now I mean to carry you over the threshold of our home, as my wife . . . Mr and Mrs Adam Roach! Sounds great, don’t it?
I’ve managed to put some money by, more than enough for a down payment on one of them little houses in Rosamund Street. See! I didn’t forget where you said you wanted to live when we were man and wife. There won’t be too much left over for a grand wedding, but we can wait a bit if you like.
Doug’s dad always said he’d give me a job when I’m demobbed, and carting coal is respectable enough, I reckon, though I don’t intend to do that forever because I’ve got big plans for you and me.
I plan to arrive at Blackburn railway station at nine forty-five on June 14th. I’ll have my eyes peeled for you, sweetheart.
See you then. All my love, Adam xxx



I know it’s been some time since I wrote, but, like I told you in my last letter, I had some growing up to do before settling down. I know you understand I had to get things straight in my mind, and how I needed to be out of the Army, before asking you to wed me.

I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair to you, and all these months of waiting to hear from me must have been sheer hell. But you knew I would write, and you knew I would never stop loving you. I’ve always promised we’d be wed one day. Well, sweetheart, the day’s arrived! I would have written earlier, but I wanted to surprise you.

I’m on my way home, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I’ve carried your picture next to my heart everywhere I’ve been. Now I mean to carry you over the threshold of our home, as my wife . . . Mr and Mrs Adam Roach! Sounds great, don’t it?

I’ve managed to put some money by, more than enough for a down payment on one of them little houses in Rosamund Street. See! I didn’t forget where you said you wanted to live when we were man and wife. There won’t be too much left over for a grand wedding, but we can wait a bit if you like.

Doug’s dad always said he’d give me a job when I’m demobbed, and carting coal is respectable enough, I reckon, though I don’t intend to do that forever because I’ve got big plans for you and me.

I plan to arrive at Blackburn railway station at nine forty-five on June 14th. I’ll have my eyes peeled for you, sweetheart.

See you then.

All my love,

Adam xxx

Sickened to the heart, she lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. All she could see was the letter, every word imprinted on her mind. Her heart felt like a lead weight inside her. She loved him still, and yet she had betrayed him with his best mate. ‘He’s too good for the likes of you!’ she told herself, bitter tears dampening the pillow. After a while, she deliberately closed her mind to it all and drifted into a restless slumber.

In her dreams she was in the eye of a raging storm, floating on a raft