Born Bad. Josephine Cox
she young and pretty, like Mammy?’
Harry shook his head. ‘No, she’s not young. But as I recall, she did have a pretty face … kind of warm and smiley.’
‘Is she very old?’
He laughed. ‘Old enough, I suppose.’
‘Grandad was old, wasn’t he?’
‘I don’t know that he would have agreed, but yes, I dare say he was.’
‘Are you old, Daddy?’
Harry thought on that for a moment. ‘Well, thirty-six isn’t really meant to be old,’ he had been shaken by the realisation of how short life could be, ‘but yes, today, I do feel old.’
‘Am I old?’
Harry laughed at his innocence. ‘God, yes! You’re as old as Methuselah.’
‘Who’s Musoothella?’
Chuckling, Harry settled the boy into the back of the car. ‘He was a very wise person.’
‘Am I a wise person?’
His father gazed on him tenderly for a moment. ‘You know what?’
‘What?’
Harry gave a wistful smile. ‘I think you’re probably the wisest person in the whole wide world.’
‘Wise as Kathleen?’
‘Well, nobody’s as wise as Kathleen, but near enough, I reckon.’
Harry gave an involuntary shiver. Today had been a typical late-summer day, with long spells of bright sunshine and a warm, gentle breeze. Now though, with the onset of evening, the clouds hung menacingly low, and there was a sudden nip in the air. ‘We might just get there before dark,’ he muttered, covering Tom with the tartan travelling rug and pressing Loppy into his arms.
He then gazed back a moment to where they had been. Only the fleetest of moments, but he held it safe in his mind for all time.
Quickly now, he climbed into the driving seat and glanced in the mirror, to see the boy’s head lolling to one side. ‘That’s right, son,’ he murmured. ‘You get some sleep.’
Before starting the engine he glanced at the sleepy boy, ‘Aw, child! You give me so much joy … and I have nothing to give you in return.’
Driving away, he wondered what lay in store for them both. In the wake of recent events, he had made a hasty decision. Now with every mile that took them closer, the doubts grew stronger.
He had been a youth of eighteen when he left Fisher’s Hill. He didn’t altogether leave because he wanted to; war was in the air, and joining up seemed like the right thing at the time. He had left his home under a cloud, trailing with him a deal of heartache and regrets, with the intention of returning.
In the eighteen years between, he had never forgotten the place that he loved so much. He moved away, travelling far and wide, and eventually settled after the war in Weymouth, with his new sweetheart, Sara, but Fisher’s Hill and Judy remained a part of him, with the bad memories always overshadowing the good.
Even now, it was hard to believe that he was just a heartbeat away from Fisher’s Hill.
When he had first contacted Kathleen after Sara’s funeral, he was amazed and reassured to find that she was still alive, still the same lovely, homely person, and that she would welcome him and young Tom with open arms.
In his grief, he had needed something familiar and comforting, and it did his heart good just to see her familiar handwriting.
How many of his old mates might still be living there? He was thinking especially of Phil Saunders. Had he stayed? Had any of them gone back after the war – if they got through intact – and if they had, would they welcome him with open arms, or would they reject him, as he had rejected them all those years ago …
And what of his old sweetheart, Judy? Was she still there? Had she met someone – and if so, were they happy, or like himself, had she been badly scarred by what happened back then? He hoped not. Oh, he truly hoped not.
Aching with regrets, he slowed the car into the side of the road, where he remained for what seemed an age; thinking, remembering. Hurting all over again.
‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ Opening his eyes, Tom peered at him through the mirror.
‘Nothing’s wrong, son.’
‘Why aren’t we moving?’
‘I just need a minute,’ he replied. ‘A minute, that’s all … to get my thoughts together.’
Collecting a comic book from the passenger seat, he handed it back to Tom, watching in the mirror as the child began to quietly look at it and read a few words to himself.
‘Judy might not be there,’ Harry muttered under his breath. ‘I didn’t want to ask about her, and Kathleen never volunteered any information.’ He hoped that was a good sign. ‘I expect she’s moved on … made a new life for herself.’
The man that Sara had moulded ached for his wife.
The boy inside the man longed for the one called Judy.
After all these years Harry could still see how heartless he had been. In spite of what had happened, he had truly loved her, back then, when he was just a youth.
Now though, he was a man with a man’s responsibilities. He had lost the woman he loved and married, and he had a child to care for. He had no right to fret about the past because right now, at this moment in time, he was only concerned with building a new life for himself and Tom. That was his priority. He had to keep reminding himself of that!
At the junction he saw the sign, and his heart lurched:
Fisher’s Hill – 2 Miles
He wondered if it would be wise to ring Kathleen and say he had changed his mind, that he was not coming back after all, but that he would keep in touch.
Then he was ashamed to himself. What’s the matter with you? he thought. So you want to turn tail and run, is that it? It wouldn’t be the first time, he admitted to himself, shamefacedly.
No! The choice was made. He had to go on. Kathleen was waiting, looking forward to seeing him and Tom. She was the only one who had stood by him, the only one who believed in him.
Thankful that Tom had drifted back to sleep, he realised how fortunate he was to have a friend like Kathleen.
Kathleen would give Tom a woman’s love and comfort, he knew. He believed that beyond a shadow of doubt, because hadn’t she done that for him? She had always been there for him. It was Kathleen who had seen him through that dreadful time with Judy, and she had never once judged him.
When his father took off with another woman and his mother turned to drink, he had felt so alone, but as always, Kathleen gave him comfort.
Some months later, drunk and violent, his father came back, pleading that he was ready to try again. That night, while Harry was out with his mates, his parents got into a fight and somehow a fire started – ‘from a lit cigarette on the bedclothes’ the investigators said.
Witnesses claimed that the fire exploded into a raging inferno. The emergency services arrived within minutes, but it was too late. ‘A tragic accident’ was the verdict.
That same night, Kathleen took him in and brought him through the nightmare of losing both his parents.
Through each and every crisis in his colourful, rebellious youth, Kathleen had been his only salvation; a tower of strength.
During the war, and his proud time of serving with the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment, she was like a mother to him, keeping him safe, he felt, with her parcels and prayers. More than one thousand men were killed from the regiment, but Corporal, then