The Loner. Josephine Cox
met, talked and laughed, shared a moment of frantic excitement, and then he went on his way.
No money ever changed hands on such occasions. It was the excitement, that was all she craved. Brief and sordid, the encounters meant nothing to her. She adored her husband; she cherished her family. But sometimes, for some mysterious reason that she didn’t understand but was powerless to resist, Rita Adams followed the urge to abandon her responsibilities and lash out at life.
If she lost control, it wasn’t her fault she told herself – it was not her fault. Life was wonderful, and then it became too mundane, and then she began to wander. But it was wicked. She was wicked; a loose and shameful woman. And afterwards, she was always sorry. But ‘sorry’ was never enough. She knew that.
Having searched for a plausible excuse for coming home so late, Rita had hit on the idea of Edna Sedgwick. She had been meaning to go and see the old dear for some long time now, and what was more, Don knew that. He was aware that her old friend had been poorly. She’d tell him that she’d rushed round there when she heard that Edna had worsened…and had spent more time with her than she should have.
Plain and outspoken, with a mop of bleached hair, Edna had been a good neighbour, and when she moved away, the whole family had missed her. It was the most natural thing in the world for Rita to go and see the sick woman.
Surely her Donny wouldn’t argue with that?
Rita felt a pang of guilt at using Edna as an alibi to lie her way through this night – not only because she had promised not to lose touch, but somehow, two long years had passed since Edna and Fred had left the street, and Rita had never found the time said loudly, 'I will to pay her old friends a visit.
Her part-time job at Michelle’s Hair Salon, doing all the perms and the rest of it, kept her occupied. It was murder on the feet though, she thought, fishing for a cigarette in her handbag. Somehow, she managed to strike a match and light it. Taking a deep drag, then stumbling on, she said loudly, ‘I will come and see you soon, Edna mate, I really will. I’ll be on your doorstep tomorrow, an’ that’s a promise.’ A hollow promise, she knew.
In that moment, between three and four a.m., she felt as though she was the only person in the whole world. But then suddenly, it was as if this world was awakening; house lights were going on as people got ready for early shifts, and dogs were let out to relieve themselves against the lampposts. Best get home, Rita thought, quickening her steps. Falling this way and that, she found it highly amusing. ‘Yer drunken beggar, our Reet,’ she giggled. ‘Stand up straight, will yer.’
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on, one hand steadying herself against the walls of the houses and the other keeping her coat tight about her.
In the distance, she could hear the faint clatter of horses’ hooves against the cobbles. That would be Tom Makepeace, on his way to the Co-op Dairy depot to deliver his milk churns from the farm and to collect the crates of bottles for his round. Tom knew all and sundry hereabouts, and everyone liked the man, Rita included. Her son and Tom’s daughter Judy were the best of pals.
The clattering grew louder until he was right there beside her. ‘Good God, Rita love, what are you doing, wandering the streets at this time o’ the morning?’ he asked, reining the big horse to a halt. With a gruff manner and his homely face worn by the elements, Tom was in his mid-forties and as decent a man as could be found anywhere. Like most folks he had heard the rumours that circulated about Rita, though he had learned never to make hasty judgment. All the same, he suspected she would have a plausible lie in answer to his question.
‘I’ve been to see Edna Sedgwick,’ she fibbed. ‘Got talking – you know how it is.’
‘Oh, aye, I know how it is, and I heard she’d not been well. Has she improved at all?’ Tom knew something about Edna that Rita obviously didn’t, but he played along with her lies.
Anxious to get home, Rita cut short the conversation. ‘Oh, yes, she’s a lot better, thank God…only I spent more time with her than I should’ve. Got to be getting home now.’ Moving on, she made every effort to walk with dignity, but her head was whirling inside and her feet seemed to go every way but forwards. Instead of sobering up, she felt worse than ever, and what’s more, her hangover was kicking in now. Rita Adams, you’re a born liar! she thought. One o’ these days it’ll be the death of you.
Feigning a smile, she called after him, ‘Bye then, Tom. Stay well now.’
Turning his head, Tom noted how she swayed from side to side. ‘Drunk as a skunk and a liar into the bargain!’ He clicked the old horse on, and shook his head forlornly. ‘Some folks never learn.’
He thought of his own family, and felt like a millionaire. Although his wife Beth was neither flamboyant nor striking in her looks, like Rita, she owned the prettiest eyes and a smile that could light up a room. An admirable cook, despite all the rationing they’d had to get used to, during and straight after the war, she thought nothing of cracking him over the head with the mixing spoon whenever he got under her feet. He chuckled out loud. Many were the times she’d chased him down the path after catching him with his finger in the mixing bowl or pinching some crust off a newly-baked loaf.
Their daughter Judy was an added blessing. Deeply thoughtful and gentle in her manner, her laughter was like music to his ears. But she could also be outspoken and strong-minded. When championing any particular cause, she possessed a temper that could shake the foundations of the earth. Her friendship with Davie Adams was deep and abiding; he was the brother she had never had, the apple of her eye. It was a good job the young ’un took after his father, Don, and not his mother, Tom thought.
Beth and Judy. These two were the pivot of Tom’s existence. And he thanked the Good Lord for them, every day of his life.
Glancing after Rita, Tom recalled the heartache she had caused her family. What a foolish woman she was. She had a loving husband, a fine son, and a generous father who had taken them in after she and Don had lost everything in a failed business venture. Yet time and time again, she put them all through the mill.
He flicked the reins to gee up the horse. ‘God knows how they put up with her,’ he grumbled.
‘’Cause I’m buggered if I would!’
CHAPTER TWO
FROM HIS BEDROOM window, young Davie Adams watched his mother come stumbling down the street. Her beautiful dark hair was wild and dishevelled; he heard the raucous laughter and her quick defiant shouts, and his heart sank. ‘Drunk again,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Mam! Why do you do it?’
He sneaked out to the landing and looked down. In the light from the parlour, his father’s anxious figure threw a shadow over the carpet as he paced up and down, waiting for her, obviously worried about her. The boy knew that his dad loved his mam, and forgave her every time. But what if this was one time too many? His young heart thudded with fear and misgiving.
‘Go back to bed, lad. Don’t be out here when she comes in.’
The boy almost leaped out of his skin. ‘Grandad!’ Turning, he saw the old man standing behind him. Once tall and straight, with looks that could entrance any woman, Joseph Davies was now slightly stooped, his dark hair marbled with grey, and a look of desolation in his blue eyes. ‘Will she never learn,’ he asked gruffly. ‘God forgive me, what kind of daughter have I raised?’
‘Don’t get upset, Grandad,’ Davie whispered. ‘You’ll see, it’ll be all right. It always is.’
Smiling fondly, the old man laid his hand on the boy’s head. ‘You’re a good lad, Davie. An example to us all.’ He nodded. ‘Happen you’re right. Happen the both of us should get back to our beds.’ He gave a stifled little cough. ‘Afore we catch our death o’ cold, eh?’
He paused at the sound of someone fumbling with a key in the front door lock, then the banging of fists against wood, and then her voice, loud and angry. ‘What the devil are you lot playing at in there? Thought you’d lock me out?’