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Journey’s End
Josephine Cox
Following the fortunes of some of the much-loved characters from her bestseller ‘The Journey’, Josephine Cox’s powerful novel spans continents, decades and generations of one family.Like a ghost from the past, she walked along the platform towards them…It has been over twenty years since Vicky Maitland set foot on English soil. Twenty years since she left Liverpool with her three children, bound for a new life in America, leaving her beloved husband Barney behind.But this long journey home is the hardest of all. She is here in search of the truth, afraid of what she may find. Why did Barney turn against his family so suddenly, so cruelly? Only her old friend Lucy Baker knows what happened. And Lucy promised Barney she would never tell his secret. Is it time she broke her silence and explained the events of so long ago?
JOSEPHINE COX
Journey’s End
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_a33b8dc8-0100-53c5-bbe1-0c0fe44509a1)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublishers 2006
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2006
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
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EBook Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780007369690
Version: 2017-08-10
PRAISE (#ulink_3df337a4-f8d9-5c3d-8cc5-e315948f644e)
Once in a while we are blessed with the friendship and love of someone who is uniquely special. When I was an infant and my mother gave birth to her fifth baby boy, I loved him from the moment I saw him; as we all did. She named him William, but he was always known to us as Billy.
Small and sturdy, with the funniest, most mischievous little smile, he was a rascal from the start. He grew up to be a fine man, with high principles and a fierce passion for family. He was at times infuriating, aggravating, bossy, but immensely lovable. He was our Billy, one of us and we all respected and loved him, without reservation.
A short time ago we celebrated his sixtieth birthday; it was a wonderful evening, with everyone there and our Billy in the midst of it all, laughing, teasing, innocently flirting, showing off his beloved grandchildren and happy to be with family and friends.
A short time later, he fell ill and, with very little warning, was all too quickly gone from us. With the memories of his birthday party still strong in our minds, we found ourselves mourning the loss of a much loved and very precious man.
God bless you, Billy boy, and keep you safe until we meet again. We’ll talk about you and love you, and keep you proud in our hearts.
Most of all, we’ll miss you desperately, our one and only Billy. There will never again be anyone like you.
DEDICATION (#ulink_b8f40059-6044-5cec-ad41-2bc9280bc731)
This book is for my Ken as always
CONTENTS
COVER (#uc88cc0b6-83d7-56eb-89e1-75effcba02ec)
TITLE PAGE (#u9b488f20-3327-5cdf-bee4-4bf2f95374f3)
COPYRIGHT (#ua728cd11-1d95-5351-bd6b-20e3c2b1aa29)
PRAISE (#ubc8759eb-6bf8-52ab-bc6c-bebd9c4f7c43)
DEDICATION (#u7cb28455-881b-5f58-9046-ae2c9bb3932a)
PART ONE (#u3ac6ae64-df22-5ba4-b923-197dc5ab93c5)
CHAPTER ONE (#u46518517-314a-5cbf-9718-6034de5bbb8e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1f00cd38-8978-5774-99ae-2058a5865865)
CHAPTER THREE (#uccca0b41-5691-5f3f-b74d-65417d216080)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7eeddfdc-f612-5921-8d93-cca5b641aaac)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u3f23b46a-cc0f-5b8b-b13e-c91621860aa9)
CHAPTER SIX (#u34008a43-858c-51bf-a84a-ffdb9a2edfb0)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
PART TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
PART FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
OTHER WORKS (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHATTERBOX (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)
Part 1 (#ulink_ec2a1e00-5dad-5c2d-b9b9-2ea38c16f11d)
Late March, 1954
The Telling
Salford, Bedfordshire
Chapter 1 (#ulink_a34f023d-cd6d-541e-986e-43d68fe674ae)
SHE WOKE WITH a cry. It was the same dream as before – the same place, the same faces, the same jolt of terror; real in her dream, real in her life. Would it never leave her be?
The sweat dripping down her temples and her whole body trembling, she clambered out of bed and went to the window, where for a moment she stood, regaining her composure, collecting her senses.
Drawing back the curtains, she peered into the darkness, thick and impenetrable, like the deepest recesses of her mind. Dismissing the nightmare, she returned to the question that tormented her.
Should she tell? Would it destroy lives and minds? Would they hate her or, as she desperately hoped, would they thank her? But then, why would they thank her when the news she had to reveal was so unbearably cruel?
‘Dear God, give me the courage to do what’s right,’ she prayed.
Maybe it would be better if the truth was never told. Yet that would be the coward’s way out, and she might be many things, but Lucy Baker was no coward.
She glanced at the clock; it was five minutes past three – another day beginning. Taking her robe from the back of the chair, she slipped into it and sat on the edge of the bed, where she remained for a time. She sighed, a long, broken sigh. ‘Oh, my dearest Barney, my joy, my life.’ There was a murmuring of guilt, but never regret. ‘I loved you then, and I love you still.’
Barney had been her only true love, and it was a love all-consuming, all-powerful. There was no way to describe how much she missed him. No words. Only memories.
The smile slipped away and in its place came a look of hatred.
While Barney had brought her joy, Edward Trent had brought her tragedy.
‘Edward Trent … monster!’ Her mouth curled with loathing, she spat out his name as though it was tainted with poison. His wickedness had caused such pain; she would carry the burden of it for the rest of her days.
Lucy was no stranger to nightmares. A thousand times, she had awoken terrified and sobbing, reliving the night when Edward Trent had kidnapped her little son Jamie, and caused him to drown.
In the sorrowful years that followed, Trent had haunted her every waking and sleeping hour. In the daytime she would be in the middle of a mundane task, like washing the dishes or drawing the curtains, and suddenly he was gnawing at her mind until she could hardly think straight. Then at night came the dreams which left her breathless and shaking. Eventually, over the past twenty and more years, she had grown used to them. Like the hatred, they had become part of her life.
In the dreams it was always the same: the darkness, the water, and the chase … that unforgettable chase, ending in such horror.
This time though, the dream had been different. There was no frantic chase, no rushing water as it tumbled downstream, tugging at her ankles and throwing her off-balance; there wasn’t even the soul-wrenching sound of her child crying. This dream was like nothing she had ever experienced.
She had seen only his face, that swarthy, handsome face, his mouth frozen in an easy smile. Unlike before, he was not threatening her, nor was he reaching out. There was only the smile. And those mesmerising eyes, utterly chilling. And the silence – eerie, absolute.
‘Take a hold of yourself, Lucy,’ she said aloud. Grabbing the crumpled corner of the bedsheet, she wiped the sweat from her face. ‘It was just a dream. He can’t hurt you any more.’ So many times she had tried to convince herself of that. Even so, the fear never went away.
It never would.
In the adjoining room, in that lazy space between sleeping and waking, Mary lay in her bed and listened. She heard her mother open the curtains, and she heard her muffled footsteps as they paced the floor. The young woman did not attempt to go in: she knew that Lucy would not want that. Instead, for the next hour, she lay waiting, the only sound the ticking of the clock.
This was not the first time she had heard her mother agitated, unable to sleep. The first time was many years ago, when she was just an infant. The sound of Lucy sobbing had disturbed her deeply. In her childish manner, Mary had gone to comfort her, but her mother sent her away. Since then, whenever she heard her mother weeping in the night, Mary would keep vigil, desperately hoping it would not be too long before her mother went back to sleep; as she always did.
Mary had known there was some secret torment in her mother’s past; some fearful thing that touched all of their lives in some way – herself, her mother, and Adam, that dear kind man who had always been there to protect them.
Only recently, Adam had taken it upon himself to tell the truth of what happened all those years ago. In the telling, he had betrayed Lucy’s trust and broken his vow to his old friend Barney. At the time he believed it was for the best. Now, he was not so sure.
Mary was shaken to her roots by the story he told. Even now it was not ended. There were others who had to know: the ones who had gone away; the ones who had never known the truth of Barney Davidson’s sacrifice.
In Mary’s far-off memories, she recalled her father, Barney, who had died when she was a tiny girl. He had been a special kind of man, frail in body but powerful in spirit. She recalled how he would sit her on his knee and create magic through his vivid fairytales; he made her laugh with his comical mimicry, and sometimes when she woke crying, he would hold her up to the window and show her the stars and describe the beauty and wonder of the world they lived in. He told her she must never be afraid, because there would always be someone looking over her.
She loved him so much, and then he was gone, and their lives were never the same again.
When she was satisfied that her mother had gone back to sleep, Mary turned over and relaxed. Tomorrow, there would be no mention of this night. Mother and daughter would smile and chat, and talk of everything else, and it would be as though the nightmare had never happened. Because that was how Lucy wanted it.
