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

With a gentle smile on his face, Dr Reed slowly shook his head, ‘No, my dear. You are definitely not “mad”.’

Eileen was grateful for his answer. But then he did not know what she knew.

Thomas did though. Oh, yes. He knew.

Later, when Eileen and Libby went round to see Thomas, he was thrilled with the news, ‘That’s wonderful!’ he gave them each a hug, ‘So, what exactly did he say?’ he asked Libby. Although, unbeknown to Libby, he had a very strong idea of what was haunting Eileen. And he was plagued with guilt.

Libby explained, ‘He was almost certain Mam was not suffering from Denentia, or Alzheimers; though he would have to undertake more tests. Instead he suspects it’s a much less invasive condition, called psychosis. It’s a kind of disturbance in the brain, where reality becomes distorted, and memories get fragmented, along with deep depression.

‘Can it be cured?’

‘Sometimes yes, and sometimes not altogether. It requires treatment and monitoring, but there is hope.’

With her next words, she dealt Thomas a hammer blow, ‘Apparantly, psychosis is triggered by some shocking, traumatic event. The thing is, when we did eventually manage to trace back to when Mam started to change, it ties in with the time when she lost Dad. So it could be that . . . but we can’t be sure just yet.’

Deeply shaken by Libby’s revelation, Thomas and Eileen instinctively exchanged glances. There was no need for words.

Each knew what the other was thinking as the years rolled away, to a time when they were younger; a time that was etched in their tortured minds, for all the wrong reasons.

As was her way, Eileen was soon chatting about everything else, and Libby was somewhat relieved that the ordeal at the hospital appeared to have already been forgotten by her mother.

A short time later, Libby coaxed her mother away, and Thomas was left.

To reflect on his guilt.

The following evening, Thomas tapped on Libby’s kitchen door. ‘Who wants to come next door and hear some proper music?’ he asked, with a sideways wink at Libby.

‘Me!’ Eileen clapped her hands, the events of the previous day having now retired to the back of her mind. Laughing merrily, she got to her feet and swirled her skirt about. ‘Look at me, Thomas!’ she cried. ‘I’m dancing!’

‘I can see that!’ he said, laughing. He took her in his arms and gently danced her round the room. Then he began to sing softly in her ear. It was her favourite artist, Nat King Cole, and her favourite song of all, ‘When I Fall in Love’.

When Libby began to sing along, Eileen suddenly broke away and ran into the kitchen. Libby ran after her.

‘Hey! What’s wrong, Mum?’ Cradling her close, she tried to make light of it. ‘I didn’t think my singing was bad enough to frighten you away like that.’

Eileen gave a shaky little laugh. ‘I’m sorry for running off.’

‘So, what’s upset you then?’

Eileen replied with such clarity that Libby was taken aback.

‘It’s your father,’ she said tearfully. ‘Why did he have to leave us like that?’ She shook her head as though in disbelief. ‘I know he liked other women, but I never thought he would leave us . . . not with you being such a tiny little thing an’ all.’

‘Ssh, Mum. That was such a long time ago. After all these years, he’s not about to come home, and it’s no use you upsetting yourself. Keep the good memories, Mum. Try not to fret about what’s gone, because it will only make you unhappy. And I don’t want you to be unhappy.’

Libby could understand how hard it must have been for her mother to come to terms with what happened. In truth, Libby had always believed it was the trauma of losing her husband that had caused her mother’s health to deteriorate.

From the other room, Thomas heard their chatter – about Eileen’s husband being a womaniser, and how she had never really got over the shock of him deserting them. It made him think about what Ian Harrow had missed – seeing his daughter grow up, and having the joy of a wife like Eileen. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Libby’s father might have changed. If he’d been there for them just that bit longer, would he have learned to cherish these two wonderful people? And who knows, there might even have been other children over the years – a brother or sister or both for Libby.

It was a sobering thought. But he reminded himself of the old saying: ‘Once a bad ’un, always a bad ’un.’ Maybe that was true, and this particular ‘bad ’un’ would never have changed his ways. In which case, Libby and the lovely Eileen were well rid of him.

It cut him deep, though, to think of Eileen, made to raise a child on her own, with no man to support her, eking out the days with her savings and doing other folk’s ironing and mending. And Libby, never really knowing her father.

It was a sorry situation; one which he had tried hard to soften over these long years, by starting to love Libby as a daughter, and looking out for Eileen. He never dreamed that he would come to love her so dearly. At first it was just him being a good neighbour – cutting the grass, trimming the hedges and generally helping out. With the passage of time, though, he had learned to truly love Eileen.

When Libby looked up and saw Thomas at the kitchen door, she told him softly, ‘She’s all right, Thomas, really. She just got a bit emotional, that’s all. She’ll be fine.’

Eileen’s mood swiftly changed. ‘When we’ve heard the songs, can we have fish and chips, Thomas? You promised that we could have fish and chips.’

Thomas grinned. ‘If I told you we’d have fish and chips, then we shall have fish and chips!’

Libby played her part, ‘You two get along and enjoy yourselves. When I’ve tidied up, I’ll go down to the fish-shop. If it’s all right with you, Thomas, can I have my tea with you two?’

‘Absolutely! Me and Eileen would have it no other way!’

Delighted, Eileen clapped her hands together. ‘We can have the music playing, and eat our fish and chips as well. It’ll be like a party, won’t it?’

A short time later, after finishing a small pile of ironing, Libby called round next door, to find her mother sitting in the armchair, tapping her feet and singing along to the old tunes.

Thomas was in the kitchen, putting plates in the over to warm. ‘I’m off to the fish-shop now, Thomas. Would you both like your usual – medium cod with chips?’ They confirmed that they did.

‘Ask if he’s got any crackling,’ Eileen called out. ‘I do like a bit o’ crackling!’

Thomas walked Libby to the door. ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he said. ‘The odd thing is, Eileen’s never asked me to dance with her before. Oh, she’ll dance on her own till the cows come home, but that was the first time she’s ever asked me to join in.’

He looked across at Eileen, who was softly singing. ‘It’s good to dance. Me and my wife had a passion for it. A man loves to feel a woman in his arms.’ He sighed. ‘I miss that.’

When the music came to an end, Eileen began yelling, ‘It’s gone! The music’s all gone!’

Thomas hurried across the room. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’ll soon have it back on again, don’t you worry.’

On leaving, Libby called to her mother, ‘I won’t be long, Mum. You just enjoy the music, and I’ll be back with your fish and chips before you know it.’

Outside, the rain was falling fast. She stopped to pull up the hood of her anorak. It was a typical English summer!

Chapter Sixteen (#ulink_9fbec7c1-360a-5dda-8c1a-5dbd195fedb8)

OUTSIDE, ON THE opposite side of the street, Jack stood under a dripping tree, sheltering from the rain beneath an umbrella. After much soul-searching, he had finally plucked up the courage to come down to Bower Street. It was only a mile or so from Buncer Lane, but that short walk had seemed like the longest journey of his life. At one point, his courage failed him, so he dodged into the nearest pub for a pint and a quiet moment to think about what he was doing.

After a while, he reminded himself of his reasons for coming back to the North – not for the glory of managing the new showrooms, because that was an opportunity and a bonus. He had come back because of the nightmares, and because he needed to find out if the psychiatrist was right. But how was he going to do that? As yet he hadn’t quite worked out the details. But he would – and soon – because it was constantly playing on his mind.

All these years, so many unanswered questions . . . If, as he truly believed, the psychiatrist was indeed right, then where else should he look, if not the very place where his dreams had started?

More than anything, he had come back because he knew instinctively that if he was to go forward, then he must first go back, to the place where it all began.

After leaving the pub, he had quickened his steps towards Bower Street. Within minutes, he was actually standing across the street from his old house. He found himself travelling back through the bad memories. He felt like a young lad again. He had felt vulnerable back then; and he felt vulnerable now too.

‘Go on, Jack!’ he urged himself. ‘Knock on the door – just tell them you used to live in that house; that you’re back in the area and you were just curious.’