Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection

Mortified, the sobs racking his body, Tom drew him close to his chest, then, tenderly, he raised his fingers and closed his brother’s eyes. But he couldn’t shake off the devastating impact of Dougie’s confession. He couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

Not until the hatred had subsided.

Gently, the inspector prised him away. ‘It’s over, Tom,’ he whispered. ‘It’s over.’

Part 3 (#ulink_44222ddc-2aa5-5ba2-8de8-3a69d173da61) November 1952 Going Home

Chapter 21 (#ulink_fcbb9fb1-e124-577a-a789-ea08643f0bb5)

‘GOOD GOD, MAN!’ Inspector Lawson could see how the events of the past twenty-four hours had taken their toll on Tom. ‘You look terrible!’

Tom nodded wearily. ‘I’m sure I do,’ he acknowledged. ‘I can’t seem to sleep. I still haven’t come to terms with what Dougie did.’

‘Sit yourself down. I’ll get you some tea.’ Waiting until Tom was seated, he added kindly, ‘It’s no use you punishing yourself over what happened. You’re not the Lord Almighty. You couldn’t have foreseen, or prevented the outcome.’

Tom knew that. He also knew that, however long he lived, he would never forget Dougie’s confession. Every word was engraved on his mind.

‘Have you had any breakfast?’ The older man’s voice cut through his thoughts.

‘No.’

‘I’ve got a couple of bacon sarnies. You’re welcome to one of ’em.’

Tom thanked him. ‘I wouldn’t say no.’

He heard the inspector go out, and he heard him come back, and it seemed to Tom as though only a minute had passed, so deep in thought was he.

‘Here!’ Handing Tom a paper bag containing the bacon sarnie, he explained, ‘The wife always gives me more than I need.’

Tom gave a half smile. ‘You’re a liar.’

The older man chuckled. ‘Maybe, but you look as if you need it more than I do. So get it down you. We’ll talk while we munch.’

He pointed to the mug of tea he’d placed in front of Tom. ‘That’s good strong stuff,’ he said, adding thoughtfully, ‘I reckon you’ll need it.’

Tom was already anxious. ‘You’ve got Dougie’s things, then?’

‘Yup. Got ’em yesterday. There’s not much in all … papers and business schedules, that sort of thing. More to do with work than anything else.’ He paused. ‘Eat up!’

Tom had seen how agitated he was, and he needed to know. ‘You’ve found something else, haven’t you?’

The inspector nodded. ‘Did you know your brother kept a diary?’

Tom shook his head. ‘I’m beginning to think I didn’t know anything about him at all. More’s the pity.’

Whatever it was the inspector had found in Dougie’s home, Tom knew it must be incriminating or he wouldn’t have called him in. ‘This diary. Does it throw any light on what happened?’

‘It tells us all we need to know.’

Tom was curious. ‘Can I see it?’

‘Not yet. It’s still being tested in the lab. But I can tell you the guts of it.’

Tom waited, but he was not prepared for what the older man was about to reveal. ‘Your brother was jealous of everything you did … everything you had. Your wife, your kids, even the job you taught him.’ He paused, before going on in softer tones, ‘He envied you, Tom … resented the very ground you walked on.’

He momentarily glanced away, then, raising his gaze, he looked Tom straight in the eye. ‘Look, Tom, I don’t take any pleasure in telling you these things. But, at some point or another, the contents of that diary will be made known. It’s better you know now exactly what was in it.’

Coolly returning his gaze, Tom kept control of his emotions. ‘I understand that, and I appreciate you giving me forewarning. I can’t pretend I’m not deeply hurt by what he thought of me, because I am. I had no idea. Can you believe that? He wanted me out of the way … was prepared to kill my entire family. For what?’

He shook his head slowly and thoughtfully from side to side, as if making himself believe it. ‘I spent most of last night thinking about it, and the harder I thought, the more I understood – and the less I understood at the same time.’

‘That’s a strange way of putting it, Tom.’

‘No, not really.’ Leaning forward, he wiped both his hands over his face, gave a long, drawn-out sigh, took a swig of his tea and was quiet for a minute. ‘I can take him being jealous of me,’ he murmured presently. ‘I can take the hating … I even understand it a little. Older brother, first born, first to walk, first to school … to have a sweetheart, a wife and family. Setting standards … showing him the ropes at work; always one step ahead.’

He gave a thoughtful nod. ‘I can see how Dougie might have resented that.’ He could see it, but not really accept it. ‘He was my brother. I did everything I could for him. But now I know … it was never enough.’

‘Did you not suspect anything, about the affair with your wife?’

‘No. Nothing.’ Tom needed to know. ‘Did the diary confirm what he said … those last few words?’ He had only one thing in mind, and it was more painful than anything he had ever before encountered in his life.

‘I’m sorry, Tom. The answer is yes.’ The inspector had been dreading this moment. ‘He and your wife had an affair for six years. They planned to go away, but then she changed her mind and finished it. He couldn’t take that.’

Tom was distraught. ‘How could I not know? Six years she and Dougie were seeing each other, and I had no idea!’ He was angry, angry with them, angry with himself. ‘How in God’s name could I not know?’

He looked up at the older man. The question burned in the air between them. He wanted to ask … was desperate to know, yet didn’t want to know.

The inspector read his mind. ‘Why don’t we leave it now, Tom?’ he suggested kindly. ‘Put it behind you. Get on with your life.’

Tom wanted to, but he had to know. Otherwise how could he ever go forward. ‘Was it true,’ he asked, ‘what he said about my son?’

There was a moment when the inspector thought he might lie to save Tom a great deal of heartache, but somewhere down the line the truth would out and he would be the villain. ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’

A loud, broken sob caught in Tom’s throat. He stared down at the floor, the air thick with silence. The boy he had adored was not his! He was Dougie’s son. DOUGIE’S SON! The cruel words echoed over and over in his mind. But then an even more terrible thought struck him. ‘Dougie was prepared to sacrifice his own son to destroy me.’

Now, when he looked up, his eyes were blinded by tears. He didn’t say anything more. It was too late. All too late!

He got out of the chair and, turning away, walked slowly across the room. At the door he paused, but he didn’t look back. Instead he slowly turned the door-handle and, leaving the door ajar, went away, down the corridor and out of the building.

The chill struck his face as he walked out into the daylight. Reality!

Thrusting his hands into his coat-pockets, he walked along the street like a man in a trance, the stark truth leaping in and out of his mind like the stab of a dagger. ‘Not my son. Dougie’s son.’

Some time later, never really sure how he got there, he found himself standing in the churchyard looking down at her gravestone. In his mind he could see her as if it was yesterday. ‘How could you do that to me … to us?’

Anger had crumbled to sadness. ‘It won’t change the way I loved him, nor will I ever forget the great times we had together. He’s still my son, whatever you and Dougie did. Peter … is … still … my son!’

The words were issued through gritted teeth, deliberately spaced, quiet but forceful. Nothing and no one could change the way he felt, or wipe out what he and his son had together.