Midnight. Josephine Cox
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JOSEPHINE COX
Midnight
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2011
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
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.
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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: 9780007301461
EBook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007383825
Version: 2019-02-04
This is for my Ken, as always
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Also by Josephine Cox
About the Publisher
This book is very special to me. During the writing of MIDNIGHT, my darling sister took ill, and never recovered. It was one of the most traumatic times of my life, because a sister is extra-special, a gift to be treasured. And I treasured her far more than I can ever describe. Winifred was my best friend, my confidante and soulmate. We did girlie things and talked naughty as only two women can. We cried together, laughed together, and shared every intimate moment from when we were children.
She was there when I was born, and she will be with me forever, though sadly not in person. My first memory of her was when she was pushing me in my pram and it tipped over. I remember screaming for my ‘Mammy’ and I recall Winifred picking me up in her little chubby arms and rocking me quiet. My Mother never knew where I got the scratches and bumps.
Growing up, we were mostly inseparable. We played tricks and were wonderfully naughty. We laughed and cried and fought anyone who hurt the other. Our Winnie was kind and fierce and gentle and harsh. She did not suffer fools gladly, and she said what she meant. We all loved her without condition; her brothers and sisters; her many lovely children; and the men she gave her heart to; especially dear Mick. We will all miss her. She was a one-off. The like of which we will never see again.
My sincere condolences to all of you who have lost a loved one. Keep the memories close. They will comfort you when you’re low. And for those of you who have fallen out with family, please make up if you possibly can. The family is the most precious gift you could have. Cherish it. Because you never know when it might be snatched away.
DISTURBED FROM HER sleep, Molly shifted across the bed to him. ‘Wake up, Jack. I’m here. You’re safe now.’ Wrapping her arms about him, she kept him close.
Lost in the darkness, Jack heard her faraway call. Beneath his body the earth was soft and pliable. He was not alone, though. Something else was here. Something shocking.
He heard Molly calling, and he knew instinctively she was his only way back. ‘I’ve got you,’ she promised. ‘I won’t let anything hurt you!’
With each crippling nightmare, Molly was there for him. ‘I have you safe, Jack,’ she murmured. ‘I won’t let you go.’
For as long as he could remember, Jack had fought his demons. They were always there, in his sleep, in his dreams. Always in the darkness. Hazy, shifting shadows, hiding in the moonlight. And all around him, a sense of evil and the eyes . . . cold, unmoving.
He could hardly breathe. He needed to get away from here.
He could hear Molly calling. He knew she would save him – but for how long? So many times he’d escaped, only to be drawn back, time and again, to this lonely midnight place.
The darkness and the images had haunted him forever; almost to the edge of madness.
From far away Molly’s insistent voice quietened his heart, ‘Wake up, Jack . . . wake up!’
Desperate to leave, he was instinctively compelled to stay.
Why had the visions plagued him all these years? Why would they not let him be?
‘Ssh now.’ Folding the corner of the bedsheet, Molly wiped away the beads of sweat that poured down his face. ‘Listen to me. It’s just a dream,’ Softly she coaxed him, ‘Open your eyes, Jack. Come away now.’
Most times she could waken him, but this time he resisted. Closing her fingers about his flailing fists, she spoke sternly: ‘Jack! You need to open your eyes and look at me.’
Suddenly, without warning, the fight went from him. His clenched fists fell heavily by his sides and Molly felt his whole body tremble and shiver. He woke up and turned to look at her, his eyes scarred and heavy with what he had seen, back there, in that place.
‘Midnight, ’ he whispered brokenly. The remnants of horror lingered like a cloak over his mind. ‘Where is it, Molly?’ he murmured. ‘What does it mean?’ He gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Why won’t it let me be?’
She searched for an answer. ‘It isn’t real,’