Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 1: Midnight, Blood Brothers, Songbird

He also knew he would not be standing here, on the threshold of his greatest achievement, if someone had not taken a chance on him; if they had not trusted their instinct that he was a good and loyal employee, in spite of earlier mistakes.

‘It was a bad mistake, Steve,’ he said firmly, ‘and yes, it is a sackable offence. You put yourself at great risk, and left the premises unsecured, because you did not fall back on a simple emergency procedure as instructed. Even calling the police for assistance would have been better than nothing.’

Feverishly scratching his ear, Steve looked up, expecting and deserving the worst.

‘If I didn’t sack you,’ Jack went on, ‘and it got out, or anything like this happened again because you did not follow proper procedure, then of course, I myself would be held responsible.’ He sighed.

‘Look, Steve, I believe you’ve learned a valuable lesson. You were hired as someone we could rely on to keep this place up and running, and safe at all times. You must always have back up on security. Never leave anything to chance.’

‘Yes, I know that, Mr Redmond, and I’ll make sure I don’t neglect my duties again.’ The little man was visibly nervous, constantly shifting from one foot to the other.

‘There’ll be no sacking today,’ Jack concluded decisively. ‘You made a mistake, but I do believe you’ll be on top of things from now on.’

Greatly relieved, Steve nodded. ‘You don’t need to worry about me,’ he assured Jack, ‘I won’t let you down.’

Jack patted him on the back. ‘Good! Now let’s put it to the back of our minds, because we have an important event coming up, and it’ll be all hands to the pump.’

Both men went away smiling.

Chapter Fourteen (#ulink_7856faf9-04d0-5179-854a-807f881d4095)

FOR THE FIRST time in his working life, Jack’s name stood proud on the door of the manager’s office. The office itself was an amazingly spacious room with a smart, glass-topped desk, and on the walls, Jack planned to hang his set of vintage car pictures.

Accompanied by his assistant Susan Wilson, he did a thorough inspection of the premises, to check on progress for the big open-day event on Saturday. It had taken several weeks of planning to get the new building ready to welcome the public. Jack was satisfied that Sue was already proving her worth and was more than capable of supporting him in his newly acquired role as manager. Moreover, her attention to detail was second to none.

‘I’m concerned about your last email,’ said Jack as they discussed the all-important event. ‘You said you’d been let down by the caterers. Now, did you manage to find a suitable replacement?’

‘I did, yes, Mr Redmond – and not only did they turn out to be a good deal cheaper on their quote, but according to my enquiries, their service and range of food are excellent.’

‘Well done!’ That particular problem had been playing on his mind. ‘Now then . . . how about a nice cup of coffee in my office, and we’ll go over the last items on our list . . .’

Two busy hours later, they had gone through the last crucial matters, finalising the orders for the banners, brochures and other in-house publicity materials that needed to be picked up on Friday in preparation for Saturday’s grand opening.

There was a healthy banter, and even a friendly dis agreement or two between Jack and his new assistant, but between them, the task was soon completed, to their mutual satisfaction. Susan then went away to a meeting with the press officer.

While she was gone, Jack had a number of calls to make, including one to Head Office, to fill them in on what was happening.

Come early afternoon, it was time to view the house which Susan had organised for Jack to rent, until he found a place to buy. She had placed two properties on standby and needed Jack to make a choice. They drove off, Susan leading the way, with Jack following. The journey was a strange experience for Jack, because he knew most of the streets and landmarks along the journey; the most familiar and poignant being The Sun, the pub where his father and his mates used to drink on a Friday night.

The first stop was a house on Preston New Road. It was a grand, stylish house, on three levels, with a rise of steps going up to the front door. Inside, it was cavernous, with rooms of generous size, and an amazing view over to Corporation Park.

‘What do you think?’ Susan was eager to know.

‘Well, yes. It’s certainly a fine old house.’

Having walked the length and breadth of the house, Jack appreciated her choice, but decided, ‘It’s too big, too impersonal. I just can’t see myself in it. Not even short-term.’

When he caught a glimpse of Corporation Park, a deep nostalgia took hold of him, and he vowed to come back later. There had been many times during his boyhood in Bower Street when Jack had desperately needed a friend and confidant. After his father later died from the injuries he suffered in the factory fire, his mother worked longer and longer hours at the hotel. Most of the time she didn’t even seem to know or care that she had a son. She didn’t ask Jack if he was missing his father, or whether he needed to talk.

Wise beyond his years, Jack understood that she was unhappy, that she needed someone. But so did he. Yet, while his mother took solace in dates with hotel guests, he was left to deal with his grief and confusion alone – as well as trying to cope with his schoolwork.

He was lost, and the one who cared was his friend, Libby. Thomas too, had been there for him, but Libby was nearer his age and understood. She too had lost a father – albeit a long time ago.

For as long as he lived, he would never forget that caring, wonderful girl. But, like everything else, good or bad in these past years, she was lost to him now. Like Molly. Like the house he had bought with such high hopes once he had moved to Bedfordshire.

Wasn’t it strange – and unsettling, he thought – how life just ticks on, like a great timeless clock, going ever forward. Never backwards.

He thought about his nightmares; the fear of which had brought him back to Lancashire. Twelve long years ago, life and circumstances had taken him away; now they carried him back.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Never-ending. Never knowing in which direction life might take you.

But what of the nightmares? Had they too, come full circle, like the psychiatrist said? Was he now meant to find out what had triggered them?

He shuddered. Night or day, the images were never far away. Sometimes, if he just closed his eyes for a moment, he was back there, in that dark place of midnight, with the full moon overhead shedding a ghostly light over everything below. He could feel the chilling cold. And see those eyes . . . staring at him, drawing him down and down.

Jack forced the images to the back of his mind.

As he got back into his car, he was thinking of Bower Street, where he grew up. He could be there within twenty minutes, he thought. He knew he wasn’t ready yet, but one day soon, he would make his way there. Above all else, that was inevitable.

He wondered if Libby and Eileen were still living in Bower Street. Then there was Thomas Farraday, who by now must be in his late sixties, possibly edging seventy. Would he still be living in that same house, or had he moved away? Or even worse, perhaps have passed on.

And what about Number 20, the house where he grew up? Another family might be living there, with children. Or was it now the home of some happy young couple, just starting out, and as yet without kids.

The idea of seeing the house again made him feel deeply uncomfortable. And yet, like a homing pigeon, Jack had a deep, natural urge to head back there.

Not a half-mile away from Jack were two of the very people who had been in his thoughts.

‘I don’t want to go home yet!’ Eileen was adamant. ‘Why can’t we go to the cannons, like you promised?’

‘Because it might start to rain again, and besides, Libby will be wondering where we are.’ Also, Thomas was tired, and though he would accompany Eileen across the world and back if he had to, his arms were aching at the roots and his legs were beginning to buckle under him.

‘We’ve already been out longer than we said,’ he reminded her. ‘Matter o’ fact, I’d best give Libby a call right now, to let her know we’re on our way home.’

‘You can’t give her a call! How can you give her a call, when there’s no telephone box anywhere?’ She looked around, searching for the familiar red box. ‘See – nothing!’

‘Ah, well now, my beauty,’ Thomas explained for the umpteenth time, ‘we don’t need a telephone box now adays.’ Proudly he showed her his little black mobile phone. ‘Not now we’ve got these wonderful inventions.’

Eileen was wide-eyed. ‘What is it?’

‘You know what it is, m’dear. It’s the phone that Libby bought me, so’s we could keep in touch if we had need to.’

‘I want to see the cannons,’ Eileen persisted. ‘And why were there no ducks at the lake?’

‘Because we didn’t go to the lake today, my darling. Don’t you remember? You didn’t want to go to the lake today.’

‘We did, ’cause you nearly fell in. Your trousers got all wet.’

He smiled at the memory. ‘That’s right,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘You remember that, eh? But that wasn’t today, my dear. It were last week. The wind got up and blew your hat into the children’s pond at the far end of the lake. My trousers got wet when I retrieved your hat.’