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

The barmaid tutted, then went to the other end of the bar, where an elderly man was waiting to be served. ‘Yes, my darling – what can I get you?’ Her smile was radiant, but when her attention slid over to Molly, she muttered a piece of advice: ‘What you need, lady, is a man who can put you in your place. A good kick up the arse now and then wouldn’t hurt you, either.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ The old gent didn’t quite catch what she said.

Horrified, she spun round. ‘Oh, sorry – what was it? Vodka and lemonade, and a gin and tonic?’

The old man smiled patiently. ‘No. It was a pint of best, and a shandy for the missus.’

By now Molly had finished her wine and sat in the corner, growing increasingly morose and sorry for herself. ‘Jack should never have left me,’ she mumbled. ‘He said he loved me, and yet he still went away. We should have talked about it more. He should have realised how much I needed him.’

The barmaid continued to keep a wary eye on her. ‘Look at her now!’ She nudged the landlord. ‘She’s talking to herself . . . losing the plot. Batty as a church steeple, she is!’

‘Stop it, Sal.’ The landlord had certain standards to maintain. ‘She’ll hear you.’

‘So?’ The girl gave a shrug. ‘Good job ‘n’ all. Probably time she heard a few home truths.’

She spun round to deal with a customer. ‘Hello, pint, is it? My, you’re pushing the boat out tonight, and no mistake.’ She gave his wife a knowing wink. ‘Play your cards right an’ you’ll be in for a treat later,’ she told her loudly.

The customer laughed out loud. ‘Those treats are long gone,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s a game of dominoes and a hot-water bottle now . . . more’s the pity.’ He gave a long, drawn-out sigh, as though he had lost something very precious.

‘Give over!’ the barmaid teased. ‘It’s never too old to enjoy yourself.’ When he turned away, she called him back. ‘Hey! Come in next Friday – we’ve booked a dancing stripper. That should start your engine, if you know what I mean?’

His eyes sparkling with anticipation, the man asked, ‘Well built, is she?’

‘Absolutely! Goes to the gym three times a week. Name of Jerry – tree-trunks for legs. You’ll like him.’

The customer laughed so heartily, he had to put his pint down again. ‘You’re a one, aren’t you, eh?’ He went away to tell his wife, who judging by the sour look on her face, was not amused.

When, a short time later, Mal heard the front door opening, he ran to meet her. ‘Where have you been?!’ he demanded. ‘When you rang earlier, you said you wouldn’t be long.’ He gave her a snippet of news she did not welcome, ‘Mal’s here. Have you two had a row?’ Just then, Mal appeared in the doorway, ‘I couldn’t let you go like that, Moll we need to talk.’ Ignoring him, Molly headed for the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ Mal was frantic. Let me come with you, please! We can go away . . . Thrash it out together. Please Moll?’

He followed her down the path. ‘Don’t do it, please!’ he begged. ‘I just need to understand what’s happened. What’s changed between us. There’s no need to leave. Let’s talk. We’ll work it out . . .’ His voice broke and he watched, helpless, as she climbed into her car.

‘I need some space,’ she tore the engagement ring off her finger and gave it to him. ‘You said I could have as long as I want, and I’m due a week off work. So, now I’m doing what you said. I’m taking time out – by myself. I’m putting a distance between us, so I can think what to do next.’

Slamming the car door, she switched on the ignition, and before he could stop her, she was accelerating down the road.

‘Don’t forget to let me know where . . .’ His voice tailed off. She couldn’t hear him now, she was too far away. And he daren’t even think about her not coming back.

Where would she go? Walking slowly back inside the house, he had no idea.

Molly though, had her destination all planned.

And she couldn’t get there quickly enough.

Chapter Eighteen (#ulink_f1fb3fe9-eb68-5768-815b-6cca5577facb)

‘SUSAN?’ JACK’S VOICE echoed across the now empty showroom.

‘Yes?’ His assistant was texting her husband to come and pick her up.

Jack walked towards her. ‘Here. This is for you.’ He gave her a heavy, pink-wrapped parcel. ‘Careful – don’t drop it.’

‘What’s this for?’

‘For all your hard work today, and in recent weeks. I think you’ve excelled yourself.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ Susan flopped into a chair. ‘I am worn out, though,’ she admitted.

Jack sat beside her. ‘Me too.’ He hoped she liked the bottles of rosé champagne in a luxury silk-lined presentation box. It had not been cheap but she had more than earned it.

He could not believe how, with the help of every man Jack had available, they had dressed this place from top to toe, ready for the grand opening tomorrow. He looked about, at the huge banners hanging from the ceiling, and four others around the walls. The sales brochures were placed at every strategic position, and each car was sparkling like a diamond, as was every surface, including the wide, wrap-around windows, and a floor that went on forever.

Even with two professional cleaners on hand, this was a huge and difficult building to clean. No one had been exempt from helping. Even with their own personal schedules to prepare, every last man and woman had rolled up their sleeves and got stuck in.

Crockery and cutlery were attractively laid out on long catering tables, ready for the food that would be delivered tomorrow. The Nissan hatchback that would be raffled took pride of place on a spin-around pedestal, its dark-blue body all polished and shiny, waiting for the lucky winner to claim it in December.

In two big boxes by the door were more banners of every shape and size to dress the building outside, and a pile of goodie-bags to be handed out as the throngs made their way through the doors. Every member of staff had been instructed to arrive by eight-thirty tomorrow to assist with the finishing touches before the doors opened at ten o’clock. Everyone was praying that the rain that had blighted this entire summer would let up, at least for tomorrow morning.

‘I ache all over,’ Susan groaned. ‘Right – I’d better go to the car park. John will be here any minute.’

‘I reckon we’re a good team, you and me,’ said Jack. ‘We’re not bad, are we?’ she agreed. ‘Thanks a lot for the present – I can’t wait to open it. Now, don’t you hang about too long,’ she advised. ‘And don’t lie awake all night thinking about tomorrow, or you’ll be worse than useless.’

Jack smiled. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. See you tomorrow!’

Once he’d posted the completed and signed copy of the rental agreement in through the letterbox of his landlord’s house, Jack went in search of a shop. He soon discovered a small supermarket not all that far from where he would be living. He vaguely recalled that it used to be a paint and wallpaper shop when he was a boy.

He glanced at his watch – eight-thirty already! Today had been fast and furious – and tomorrow would be the same. Jack couldn’t wait to get started. He was convinced that, if they matched the client to the car, kept their prices as competitive as they could . . . then Curtis Warren Motors would get through the creeping recession with flying colours.

A short time later, having done his shopping, he was strolling through the car park, ready to open his car boot and dump his shopping, when he saw a woman standing by her car looking very distraught.

Quickly packing his shopping into the boot of his car, he offered assistance, ‘Can I help?’

‘Are you any good with cars?’ The woman had also just done her shopping and was growing frustrated. ‘The trouble is, I can’t get my old car to start. And I don’t belong to any car-rescue scheme, so I’m in a bit of a mess.’

‘I’ll see if can find out what the problem is,’ Jack promised. ‘I run a showroom out at Lytham, and I’ve been around cars now for a few years . . . so let’s see if I can figure out what’s wrong, eh? Look, here’s my card, so you know who I am.’

Jack soon had the bonnet up and quickly identified the problem. He could tell that the car was on its way out. He noted that it had 128,000 miles on the clock. However, he soon had the engine running, and all the woman had to do was to get behind the wheel and drive away.

‘How can I thank you?’ she asked. She thought instinctively Jack might be offended if she offered him money.

‘Come to our special event tomorrow morning, if you can,’ he suggested. ‘Curtis Warren Motors, over in Lytham – the address is on the card. I’ll look out for you. And who knows – maybe we can fix you up with a reliable new car.’

Bidding her cheerio, he returned to his own car. He had no idea that the whole incident had been observed by Libby, who had just emerged from the staff entrance at the back of the supermarket.

Having put her own shopping down for a moment so she could turn to close the door, she had paused, intrigued by the sight of a tall young man going to the other driver’s assistance. He looked just like the stranger who had loitered under the trees opposite their house the other night . . . and who had been hanging around near the chip shop later on. She recognised his light-blue rain-jacket with its distinctive white panels. Thomas had spoken of him having a big black car and had spelled out its number, all but the last digit. Libby wondered if this man’s car would be the same one.

It was something about his stance that she recognised – something about the way he held himself as he walked along, so sure of himself, sort of easy and confident. It was him – she would have bet her day’s wages on it. But there was something else . . . something that made her breathing quicken, something that her heart knew even before her conscious mind had caught up.