Midnight

‘You don’t need to worry, my darling, because he won’t be back.’

‘Not ever?’

‘No. Not ever.’

‘Do you promise?’

Thomas nodded, his eyes moist with sorrow. ‘I promise. With every bone in my body.’

‘Thank you, Thomas. You’re the best friend to me and Libby,’ Eileen whispered, and in an impromptu move that surprised the other two, she leaned forward and pursed her lips for a kiss.

With aching heart, Thomas took hold of her hands, and drawing her close, he kissed her quickly, with great tenderness. ‘I’m always here for you,’ he promised hoarsely. Then, addressing Libby, he stood up to leave. ‘Thanks for that nice bit o’ breakfast. Went down a treat, it did.’

Libby nodded. ‘Mum’s right,’ she acknowledged. ‘You really are a true friend.’ She had been touched by the way her mother had asked him for a kiss, and he responded, appearing to be deeply moved.

Thomas assured her, ‘What I did was only what any right-minded bloke would do. Now then, ladies, don’t forget: if you need me . . .’

‘We know where you are,’ Libby finished, and showed him to the door, where they bade each other good day.

Thomas walked the few steps along Bower Street to his own little house next door, thinking about the vile creature he had sent packing. ‘He’ll not be back,’ he muttered. But like Libby, he had a feeling it would not be the last time Eileen would go wandering off. ‘We shall have to keep a sharper eye on her in future.’

He gave an involuntary shiver. The sun was bright, but there was no warmth in it. ‘You should’ve put your coat on,’ he chided himself. ‘Catch your death o’ cold if you’re not careful!’

Cheering up, he made his way through the little wooden gate and on down the garden path, pausing to see if the flower-buds were peeping out. ‘Too early yet!’ he chuckled wryly. ‘They’ve got more sense than me. Like as not, they won’t pop their heads up for a while yet.’

Letting himself into the house, he closed the door behind him. It was only a few steps along the passageway to the living-room. Once there, he dropped his weary body into the depth of a big old armchair. When it creaked beneath his weight, he laughed out loud. ‘Sounds like I’m not the only one getting old,’ he remarked to the empty room. ‘Old and worn, me an’ the chair both.’

Rolling up his shirt-sleeves, he noticed a dark, elon-gated bruise on his wrist. ‘I’m too bloody old to be rugby tackling fellas, that’s for sure!’

He gave a deep, rumbling laugh. ‘Saw the bugger off though, didn’t we, eh? Me an’ the lasses – we saw the bugger off good and proper!’ For the first time in a long while, he felt useful. Moreover, he felt proud to have dealt with such an ugly situation.

His mood sobering, Thomas gazed at the fire-grate and the dark coals flickering there. He felt safe in this little house; sheltered from the changing world and the harshness of life. This home was where he had been most happy, with his late wife. It had always been a deep disappointment that he and Rose were never able to have children. If they had, his life and hers would have been all the sweeter. Maybe then, she’d still be with him, grandchildren on her knee.

Growing melancholic, he got up from the chair and ambled over to the sideboard, where he studied the array of photographs displayed there. His eyes settled on one in particular – of a pretty young woman seated on a swing near the rose-beds in Corporation Park.

He recalled the day clearly. It was high summer and they’d been married for two years to the very day. The gentle breeze lifted her long fair hair, just as he was about to take the picture. She laughed, he clicked the button, and she was captured for ever. This photograph had always been his favourite one of her. They were young then, and she was so beautiful.

He had always wondered what she saw in him – an ordinary-looking bloke with few prospects. But oh, how he loved her, and still did . . . to this very day, in spite of everything life had thrown at them.

Collecting the photograph, he carried it to the chair, where he sat down and stared at it for what seemed an age, until the tears ran freely down his weathered old face. ‘I know what Eileen meant when she said she missed her husband,’ he told the image, ‘because I miss you, every minute of every day.’

After a time he went to the back window and looked out. ‘See that!’ He turned the photograph, imagining she might see what he’d done to the garden. ‘I’ve set the flowers either side of the path, the way you like it,’ he said proudly. ‘And look at the potting shed . . . I’ve created a bed of your favourite red geraniums along the front. Should be lovely, come the summer.’ He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back. ‘Give it another month, an’ our little back garden will be ablaze with colour, you wait and see.’

Glancing up at the skies, he chided himself, ‘Hark at me! Telling you what it looks like and how pretty it’ll be. I expect you can see more than I can, from up there with the angels.’

His sorry gaze lingered on the shifting clouds, following their progress across a kindly sky. ‘I do miss you, Rose,’ he murmured. ‘I even miss you nagging at me when I made your tea too strong. I miss our cuddles, and seeing your pretty face in the mornings when I wake, and I miss your chatter and laughter. I know I’ll never hear that again, and it makes me really sad.’

When the tears threatened again, he told himself sharply, ‘You stop that, you silly old devil! She’s gone, and you can’t bring her back. It’s the way it is, and that’s that. Some of us are destined to go, and others are left behind to soldier on, and like it or not, that’s a fact of life.’

He chatted for a while, telling her, ‘Eileen next door snuck out again. She went looking for her two-timing husband. Brought a real bad fella home this time, she did. But thankfully, we managed to get rid of him without too much trouble.’

He lapsed into thought for a time, before softly confiding, ‘I must confess, Rosie, I really do like Eileen. In her clearer moments, we seem to understand each other. We’ve both suffered a loss and we’re both lonely – though of course she’s a bit luckier than me, because she’s got her daughter Libby, while I’ve got no one.’

A gentle sadness marbled his voice. ‘Yes, I know she’s damaged and I know she’s a handful, but it’s nice to be able to take care of someone, and those two lovely people next door are more like family than neighbours. During the day, when Libby goes to work and I nip round to keep Eileen company, I find myself laughing with her over silly little things. We sit and have a cup of tea and I let her chatter on, because she likes to talk, and it does my old heart good.’

He relayed the gist of the recent conversation about Jack Redmond, remembering how Rose used to claim that Jack’s mother was unfit to have children, while mourning the fact that infertile women like herself were denied the opportunity of ever becoming a mother.

‘The truth is, young Jack were thrown to the wolves,’ Thomas declared angrily. ‘If you’d still been here, I know you would have offered him a home, my sweet Rosie, but he were a proud young fella, and I don’t believe he would have accepted any kind of charity. Just now, me and the girls next door, were wondering what might have happened to him, and whether he found a better life after leaving these parts.’

He scratched his head. ‘Listen to me, talking away as if you’re sitting there listening to me! But y’see what I’m saying, sweetheart? It’s good for me to pop in next door. It keeps me up with what’s going on, and it gives me summat to think about. Moreover, it’s nice for me to look after Eileen of a morning. We have a laugh. We get on really well together, and you know what?’ He gazed directly at his late wife’s photograph. ‘Eileen and Libby make me feel I’m needed, if y’see what I mean?’

While his gaze lingered on her pretty face, his old heart flooded with guilt. ‘I’m really sorry, my lovely. I don’t mean to make you jealous, or hurt your feelings or anything of the kind, but I do love Eileen. Oh, not in the way I loved you. I could never love any woman like I love you.’

He gave a quiet smile. ‘I’m not saying we never argued, because you know very well we did, and there were times when you drove me to distraction.’ He did not want to think badly of her; to him, she would always be his first and only real love. ‘I’ve always loved and adored you, and I always will.’

Pressing two fingers on his lips, he transferred the kiss onto her photograph. ‘The thing is, we none of us know what’s round the corner. Fate can be a giver or a taker. Sometimes she’s kindly, and sometimes she causes terrible pain. Things happen and we’d rather they didn’t – and however desperate we are to change them, we just can’t.’

Returning the photograph to the sideboard, he went across the room, heavy with regrets, and as always, wishing his wife was still there. Sinking into his familiar, cosy armchair, Thomas let his mind wander back over the years.

There had been so many wonderful times which he would not change for the world, but there were other, more recent memories that brought him little comfort. He also had a deep regret that he and his wife had not been blessed with children. And now, he was left to face the future alone.

He had always been a practical man. He believed there was a reason for everything; though for the life of him, there were times when he struggled to fathom what that reason was. Overwhelmed with emotion, he leaned forward in the chair, spread his hands over his face and, frantically rocking back and forth, he began to cry. When the dark memories flooded his mind, the sorrow was more than he could bear. ‘I miss you, my lovely,’ he whispered. ‘And I’m so sorry.’

In that crippling moment, he thought of everything he had suffered since his woman had gone. First, the raw shock of it all. Such pain. Such grief. And then the unending loneliness.

The trauma of losing her would never leave him. Grief and pain he had learned to live with. But the loneliness was the worst punishment of all.

Chapter Four (#ulink_a4050d52-af3f-5228-9cd2-c9299a0ddac0)

‘YOU’RE LUCKY THE specialist had a cancellation and could fit you in so quickly.’

‘Don’t be afraid to say it, Molly,’ Jack reminded her. ‘He’s a psychiatrist!’

‘Look, Jack! Don’t let’s go through all this again. Just go and see him. For my sake, if not for yours. Neither of us have had a good night’s sleep in ages!’

‘No need to get agitated, Moll. I haven’t said I won’t go and see him!’ Jack wondered what he might be letting himself in for, and he was not looking forward to seeing the psychiatrist. I think you’re over-reacting. I know I’ve kept you awake, but like I said, I’ll move into the spare room. It’s not a problem for me.’

Molly would not hear of it, ‘You’re wrong! It is a problem – for both of us!’ Snatching up the breakfast-plate, she slid it onto the sink-top. ‘I’ve told you before: sleeping in separate bedrooms would be the beginning of the end of our relationship.’

‘Huh! That’s not saying much for our relationship then, is it?’

‘We’re already drifting apart, Jack. I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before I’m out of your life altogether.’

‘That won’t happen. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Look, Jack. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you must go and see him, even if it’s only to talk.’ She paused, recalling all the things he had told her, about the childhood drawings, and the dark images. ‘I don’t see what you see, when you’re dreaming,’ she conceded quietly, ‘but I’ve seen how the nightmares affect you. You have to talk with someone who might be able to help you. This is your chance, Jack,’ she coaxed. ‘What have you got to lose by keeping the appointment?’

When Jack gave no answer, Molly grew angry. ‘For pity’s sake, Jack! What the hell is wrong with you?’