Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection. Josephine CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
from where she had opened it many times over the years.
Holding the photograph close to the halo of light from the bedside lamp, Lucy could hardly see it for the tears that stung from her eyes and ran unheeded down her face. ‘Oh Barney, dear Barney!’ The sobbing was velvet-soft. No one heard. No one knew. No one ever knew.
For nearly twenty years, she had kept his face alive in her heart and soul, but now, as her senses swam from the effects of the sedative, when she saw him smiling up at her from the photograph, it was as though he was real: the slight film of moisture on his lips, the pinkness of his tongue, just visible behind those beautiful white teeth, and the eyes, soulfully blue, and so sad beneath the smile; yet the smile, and the eyes, were so alive they twinkled.
It was almost as though Barney was here in the room with her.
The sick woman took a moment to rest, before in a less emotional state, she studied the familiar and much-loved features: the shock of rich brown hair, those mesmerising blue eyes – not lavender-blue like Mary’s, but darkest blue, like the ocean depths. And the mouth, with its full bottom lip. The wonderful smile was a reflection of Barney’s naturally joyful soul; through good times and bad, his smile was like a ray of sunshine.
As he smiled at her now, Lucy could hear him singing; Barney loved to sing when he worked. She could hear him so clearly, his voice lifted in song and carried on the breeze from the fields to her kitchen. He never sang any song in particular. And when he wasn’t singing, he would whistle.
Barney was one of those rare people who, without realising it, could raise your spirits and make you feel good; even at your lowest ebb.
Lucy’s heart grew quiet. Times had come when Barney’s song was not so lilting nor his smile quite so convincing, and there had been other times, though they were few, when she had caught him sobbing his heart out. She knew then, that he was thinking of past events. And with every moment of anguish he suffered, she suffered it with him, and her love grew all the stronger.
Over their short time together, Barney became her very life. He was her and she was him. They were one. Together they would see it through, and nothing would ever tear them apart. But it did. Death claimed him much too soon!
And when she lost him, her own life, too, would have been over but for Mary, and Mary was a part of Barney. She saw him every time Mary smiled or sang, or chided her.
And she loved that dear child with the same all-consuming love that she had felt for Barney. It was Mary who had been her saviour; Mary who was like her daddy in so many ways; Mary who had brought her untold joy.
Adam had long believed that Mary should be told about the events which took place before she was born. But Lucy thought differently. The little girl was an innocent and must be protected, and so she was never told.
But what of the other innocents? Dear God above!
WHAT OF THEM?
Weary now, she dropped her hands and the photograph fell onto the eiderdown. Too weak to raise her head, she felt about until it was safe in her grasp again, and then with slow, trembling fingers, she laid it down beside her.
Unfolding the letter from inside the envelope, she held it up where she could see it in the light from the bedside lamp. She remembered receiving this, one dark damp day in her little cottage up north, and knew that only the truth could put things right. She had read the letter so many times, she knew every word by heart. She whispered them now, the sentences etched in her soul for all time:
To Lucy Baker,
It pains us to put pen to paper, but we must. Word has come to us here that you are now living with our father and have a child by him. Because of what you have done, we feel only hatred towards you. Hatred and disgust! Lucy, you betrayed us! We thought you were our friend, our sister. We all trusted you, especially our mother, but you were a viper in our midst.
The day we left, we vowed we would never be back, and that vow remains strong as ever. We just want you to know what you and our father have done to all of us; and to our mother most of all.
You helped to ruin our lives. You are a wicked, evil woman, and if there is any justice in the world, there will come a day when you will both pay for what you did. We pray with all our hearts for that day to come.
We don’t need to sign our names. You know them already.
We are Thomas, Ronald and Susan Davidson.
We are your conscience.
Lucy shakily folded the letter away. ‘Such hatred!’ she sighed. Her heart ached for those young people … for them and their poor mother, because of all their suffering. But they didn’t know the truth. THEY DIDN’T KNOW! How could they?
Carefully, she replaced Barney’s photograph into the biscuit-box, then the letter into its envelope. ‘What am I to do, love?’ she whispered. ‘You said they must never know, but I feel I must tell them, even if it will be too much for them to bear. It is time to put things right, if God will grant me the time I need.’
Then weariness closed in and the sedative claimed her. But the dreams remained. Awake or asleep, the dreams were never far away.
Adam went over to the fireplace and stood there for a while, his arms reaching up to each side of the mantelpiece, and his head bowed. ‘I’m not sure if it’s my place to tell you,’ he murmured.
Mary felt instinctively that she ought not to speak. If he was wrestling with his conscience, then she must not influence him either way. So she waited, and hoped, and in a while he turned round, looked at them both, and slowly made his way back to them. ‘I think Barney would want you to know,’ he told Mary heavily. ‘I reckon you’re right, lass, the time is here.’ The haunted look had finally left his eyes.
‘So, will you tell me now?’ Her mouth had gone dry; she could barely say the words.
He nodded.
‘And will you tell me everything?’
Mary knew this was it. At long last she was to cross that threshold which, though it had never affected the deep love between herself and Lucy, had always been present between them. Excitement and fear mingled as she sensed the door opening to her, that secret door which had been too long closed, and she had no doubts that something wondrous waited beyond.
‘I don’t know if I’m doing right or wrong, but I believe the truth is long overdue,’ Adam answered. ‘Though I may live to regret it, and Lucy may not thank me for going against her wishes, yes, I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart. I promise I won’t leave anything out.’
Ben hastily prepared to leave. ‘This is private family business,’ he said. ‘I have no right to be here.’
Neither Adam nor Mary would hear of it. ‘Please, Ben, I want you to stay,’ Mary told him, and Adam gave a nod of approval. ‘I believe you should both hear what I have to tell,’ he said.
The little man had a deep-down instinct that these two were made for each other. In the same inevitable way that Barney was woven into Mary’s past, Ben was destined to be part of her future. He had seen her look at Ben in the same way her mother had looked at Barney, and tonight in Ben, he had caught a glimpse of his dear friend. Something told him he was witnessing the start of another deep and special love, and he knew that Ben truly belonged here.
And so he settled in his chair and cast his mind back over the years. Drawing on his memory, he mentally relived the story; of Lucy and Barney, and of course the others who did not, and could not, see the truth of what was happening before their eyes.
But Adam had seen, and it had scarred him forever. Just as it had scarred Lucy, and the others; though to this day, those others had not learned the truth of what happened, and maybe they never would. Maybe the hatred and the pain would always be paramount.
Adam thought that was a sad