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The Beachcomber
Josephine Cox
Another page-turning story of tragedy and triumph from the No.1 bestselling author of The Loner and The Journey.In the summer of 1952, two lonely people arrive in the pretty seaside hamlet of West Bay. Strangers coming from very different backgrounds, they are there for the same reasons: to find peace of mind and the chance to start a new life.Tom Arnold has abandoned all his possessions and walked away from a highly paid job. A year ago, he had a wife and two beautiful children, when suddenly his world was turned upside-down. The car he was driving with his family was deliberately run off the road high above the cliffs. He was the only survivor. The driver – who Tom is sure intended to kill them all – has never been found.Kathy Wilson has tried to cling on to her zest for life through times of pain and loneliness. Recovering from her divorce, she seeks comfort in the arms of other men. But a shocking, revealing row with her mother is the final straw, and when she inherits a rundown house in West Bay, she flees to Dorset.For both Tom and Kathy, it seems there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Yet even now, someone means to undermine their search for happiness. People are jealous. And a brutal killer is still on the loose… Suddenly West Bay is no longer the peaceful place it seemed…
JOSEPHINE COX
The Beachcomber
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_93fb761c-bf36-5dc6-a595-2f3ad6c8f0ec)
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 HarperCollins Publishers 2003
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2003
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
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007302000
Ebook Edition © APRIL 2012 ISBN 9780007373123
Version: 2017-08-16
DEDICATION (#ulink_664d251b-aa83-5e83-bd69-782c11d46a7a)
This book, and every book I will ever write, is for Ken, a man amongst men, my soulmate and inspiration forever.
CONTENTS
COVER (#u05f435f2-3616-5d6a-a413-d39a0a5eac7d)
TITLE PAGE (#ue20788a3-734f-5d83-ba8d-c1a7bf092ec0)
COPYRIGHT (#uec7453c1-674c-595c-8901-c07d11af6853)
DEDICATION (#u2ceef216-209a-5872-9442-e78b27d7d4e6)
PART ONE (#u6dff8a75-bb41-5857-9637-3294bd23c0cd)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub2ed2f23-667d-5f8e-be2f-ec5cf2fadb56)
CHAPTER TWO (#u56aa6d33-aa3c-563d-a41d-45d5123f0013)
PART TWO (#udfc9fda1-1110-5631-86c8-a6c7ba761e99)
CHAPTER THREE (#udaca7251-fbdb-5029-8a02-7854b37723d1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub2761812-fce8-58a6-b8d3-9c68d641eca8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u12df8e07-3883-5dcb-87f4-385c4b328e5a)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#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)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)
OTHER WORKS (#litres_trial_promo)
CHATTERBOX (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)
Part 1 (#ulink_c58d49e0-19bf-5ff4-af12-42b2aa670314) Midsummer 1952 Quiet Stranger
Chapter 1 (#ulink_1cc70294-a790-5491-9997-f3a96b8d077e)
‘WHAT THE HELL does he think he’s doing!’ As the car lurched forward, Tom fought to keep control. He had been taken by surprise when the car following seemed to deliberately crash into his bumper.
‘He’s coming at us again, Daddy!’ The two children in the back were thrown hard against the seat-backs by the first bump. They screamed a warning as the other car surged towards them a second time. There was a moment of chaos before the impact sent them hurtling towards the clifftops. ‘JESUS!’ He couldn’t hold it! They were going over … dear God, they were going over, and there was nothing he could do!
In that split second as he tried desperately to swing the car round, Tom glanced again through his rear-view mirror, needing to know who his attacker was, why he would want to hurt them. The car was a blue Hillman Minx, he thought, and the driver was crouched over its steering wheel, with a Homburg hat pulled low over his forehead and dark glasses hiding his eyes. It was impossible to get any idea of what he looked like. ‘Crazy bastard … back off. BACK OFF!’ In response Tom felt the violent impact as they were hit again, and again. Wrenched out of his hands, the steering wheel seemed to spin out of control.
‘God help us!’ His wife’s frightened voice penetrated the chaos of his mind. ‘Children! Get down behind the seats!’ she ordered fearfully. He heard the pitiful whimperings of his two children as they clung to each other. He saw his wife, strangely silent now, her face shocked with disbelief as she glanced back at their attacker. ‘My God!’ Suddenly she was on the seat, frantically attempting to reach the children, but it was too late.
When the car rammed them yet again, they lurched forward, the windscreen shattering all over them, the other driver showing no mercy. Determined, he stayed with them, revving up, sending them forward towards the edge, fast and furious.
Everything was happening so quickly … a matter of seconds, no more. There was no time to escape. By now the car was badly dented; the doors were jammed tight. Tom had tried everything in his power and it wasn’t enough. All manner of powerful emotions swept through him: disbelief; helplessness; and now sheer horror as the car became airborne.
There was a moment of eeriness, when the car appeared to pause in mid-air before the nose dipped and they fell into a downward plunge towards the rocks below. ‘Oh, dear God!’ Throwing himself across his wife, he yelled for the kids to ‘STAY DOWN! HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER!’ He could hear them sobbing, and now the soft, shivering sound of his wife’s voice in prayer. Death was only a heartbeat away.
He would not remember the thud as they bounced onto the rocks and rolled over and over, crashing and breaking towards the beach; nor would he recall the screams of people who scattered in all directions as the car skidded at breakneck speed towards the sea-edge. The clanging bells of the ambulances and police cars as they rushed to help fell on deaf ears. Like his wife and children, he was beyond all that.
The next thing he knew he had awoken in hospital. Bruised and battered, both his legs were broken and his neck was in a brace. When he woke it was with a scream for the children to ‘GET DOWN, KIDS … HOLD ON!’ In that unbelievable moment, his mind was alive with the memory of what had happened.
‘It’s all right … ssh!’ Gently the nurse settled him down again, her heart aching for what he must soon learn.
Later they told him that there was nothing they could have done to save Sheila or the children. ‘We tried and failed,’ the surgeon told him, hands outstretched and an expression of hopelessness on his kindly face. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The car had turned over on top of them. Tom himself had been thrown clear … lucky to be alive, they said. But he wasn’t ‘lucky’! He was angry, seething with a need to kill. Then he was sobbing, crippled with utter loneliness.
All through that terrible night the questions had burned bright in his mind. Who was the madman who had run them off the road? Why did he do it? WHY?
There were no answers, because in the months that followed, in spite of the police relentlessly pursuing even the minutest clue, the driver of that car was never found, nor was the car itself. Tom had described both as accurately as he could, but it was as though they had vanished off the face of the earth. They had spoken to owners in the area whose cars had been stolen around the time of the accident, but until and unless they found the vehicle itself, that wasn’t of much help.
When eventually Tom was released from hospital, he too made every effort to trace the man who had taken his family and ruined his life. Time and again in the following months, he returned to the scene, speaking with anyone who would listen. All to no avail. The evil that had visited him and his family seemed to have gone as swiftly as it came.
But the consequences of that fateful day would never leave him. Neither would the hatred he felt.
Now, almost a year later, all that was left for Tom was the awful nightmares when, in his deepest sleep, he would re-enact the terrifying scene, hearing his children screaming, and Sheila, at first strangely silent, then frantically reaching out to protect her children … and all of them, helpless.
The dreams were so real and vivid, he would often wake up, arms flailing, yelling for the children to, ‘Get down on the floor, kids! FOR GOD’S SAKE, HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER!’
‘Are you all right?’ a gentle voice enquired. Tom opened his eyes, shocked and ashamed when he realised where he was.
‘You were having a bad dream.’ The elderly woman seated beside him could see the sweat shimmering on his face and the look of pain in his eyes. ‘Can I get you something?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m all right, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just that trains always make me nod off.’ He smiled to ease the tension.
The woman nodded. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You were moaning … upset.’
He grimaced. ‘It was just a bad dream.’ When she smiled and looked away, he found refuge in his newspaper.
But there was no refuge in his heart.
The woman frowned to herself. A lot of young men had come back from the war in a terrible state. Poor chap; it must be that.
As the train chugged onwards, the billowing steam outside his window blocked his vision. His mind came alive with thoughts of how it used to be. He saw them all in his mind’s eye: the woman he had loved, small and slim with big bright eyes and a smile that could light up a cloudy day. And the children: Ellie, quiet and reflective with a gentle nature, and Peter, the younger one, wild and wilful, with a free, adventurous spirit. So different, yet so alike, in their kindness and generosity.
Reaching into his pocket he took out his wallet, pulling out a small photograph of them all … Bournemouth Sands, June 1951. His heart fell like a stone inside him. It seemed incredible to think that that wonderful holiday was just a year ago, and now, God help him, there would be no more.
‘Is that your family?’ The kindly old soul pointed at the photograph as he returned it to his pocket. ‘I always wanted a daughter, but was never blessed with another child.’
Gesturing to his pocket, she added, ‘Lovely-looking children.’ Giving the cheekiest of winks, she whispered, ‘Mind you, I can see how they might be handsome, with a father as attractive as you.’
Smiling and embarrassed, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so he glanced out the window and pretended to be interested in the shifting landscape.
The woman saw his embarrassment. She thought him too good-looking for words. Discreetly observing the dark blue eyes, and the thick shock of golden-brown hair, she was sent back to her youth, when she could have had the pick of any young man. Sadly those days were gone and now, grey and old, she had too many regrets to contemplate.
‘I don’t mean to embarrass you,’ she apologised, ‘but when I’m anxious, I tend to talk a lot.’ Her face crumpled into a frown. ‘I must admit I hate these trains – noisy, dirty things. And I mean … you’re not in control, are you?’
‘We’re never “in control”,’ he answered thoughtfully. He knew all about that. He knew from experience how one minute everything was perfect, filled with love and joy, and, before you knew it, your whole world was turned upside down.
The steam whistle blasted noisily as they entered a tunnel. ‘Ooh!’ The old woman shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to reach London. I know I shan’t relax till then.’
He nodded. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he answered; then turned away to concentrate his thoughts.
Thinking she was becoming a nuisance, she tutted. ‘I’m sorry … keep chatting away … I hope you don’t mind?’
‘No. You talk away, if it helps,’ he suggested with a smile. ‘I really don’t mind.’
‘Only, you’ve been so quiet since I sat beside you, I thought you might be one of those people who like to be left alone?’ She giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘My son warned me not to be a nuisance. He knows how some folks don’t want to be bothered. You will tell me if I’m being a nuisance, won’t you?’
‘I promise, you’re not being a nuisance.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just that I never find it easy to strike up a conversation.’
Encouraged, she chatted on about the new Queen, and when a short time later she started to nod off, he began to relax. When he relaxed, however, it was inevitable that he should be overwhelmed by the faces of the woman and children in that photograph. He had loved them with a passion that frightened him. Now, they were gone and all he had left was memories … of when they were walking in the park, he and Sheila laughing at the children’s antics, and afterwards eating in that pretty little café by the riverside, where they would throw leftovers to the ducks.
The memories rolled through his mind like the reel of a film. For one precious minute they made him smile; then they were breaking his heart.
‘Do you think it will be long before we get there?’ The elderly woman woke as suddenly as she had nodded off. ‘I’ve never been to London before. I wouldn’t be going now, if my only son hadn’t taken his family and moved down there.’ She continued wistfully, ‘I’ve got four beautiful grandchildren. I’ve missed them.’
Attempting to reassure her, he replied confidently. ‘Won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘And London’s fine. After a while you get used to it. I work for a big development corporation there,’ he confided.
