PART FOUR Fisher’s Hill, Autumn 1956 Dangerous Love
PART FIVE Bedfordshire, Late Autumn 1956 The Price of Sin
HARRY BLAKE FELT as though he was the last man on earth. It was a lonely, disturbing feeling.
In this rare moment of quiet, the long-ago memories were like moving pictures in his tortured mind; vivid, aching memories of love and loss, of pain and joy and the people and places that had shaped his life so far.
Even now, in this moment of solitude, with the soothing throb of the ocean in his ears and the bright sunshine bouncing off the water, he could not rest easy.
Today was one of those perfect July days when the heart soars and dreams are allowed.
But not for Harry. Not today. Maybe never again.
All about him, ordinary people were enjoying their ordinary lives. Above him, the seagulls mewed and swooped, and sounds of laughter echoed across the sands. Harry was oblivious to all of that.
This was a day for families, a day for fun and being together. But not for him, and not for her. No amount of laughter or sunshine could change what was happening in his life.
He had no say in the events unfolding. Events which, in a few short months, had changed his world – and that of his loved ones. Only once before had he felt so lost and alone, and that was many years ago when he was a fresh-faced lad of eighteen.
Back then, he had made a decision which had haunted him ever since; a hard decision, forced on him by youth and circumstance. Because of his decision, lives had been fractured – including his own – and for that he would always blame himself.
Today though, he was caught up in a completely different nightmare. This time, he had played no part in its creation, because unlike before, he had no way of influencing the outcome. This time, it was all too final. Too cruel.
Deep in thought, his gaze absentmindedly followed the sailing-boats. Wending their way through Weymouth Harbour, their tall white sails billowing as they thrust along on the crest of a gentle breeze, they were a magnificent sight.
Vaguely aware of the playful children building castles in the sand, a kind of rage cut like a blade through his heart. She should be here, he thought. Sharing it all with us.
He could see her now, the chocolate-brown hair and the pretty dark eyes that crinkled in the corners when she laughed, her long slender legs swinging as she perched on their garden wall, and her smiling eyes uplifted to the sunshine.
Sara was a good woman, a woman of kindness and humour, and now, for reasons he would never understand, something had happened. It was happening right now, at this very moment. Relentless and unforgiving, it would go on until the end.
Nothing he could do would halt the inevitable.
‘Daddy!’ The little boy’s voice cut across his dark thoughts. ‘Please may I have an ice cream?’
Composing himself, Harry turned and nodded.
Excited, the boy jumped up and down. ‘And can I have strawberry sauce?’
‘Go on then.’ Harry wondered at the way life could still go on, when inside, his world was falling apart. ‘Here’s a shilling. Try not to get it all over your shirt.’
Pushing the chocolate-flake into the ice cream, the big man serving behind the beachfront café counter passed the cornet to the boy, joking, ‘Your daddy doesn’t want an ice cream, then?’
Holding the cornet carefully with both hands, Tom curled his tongue along the ice cream. ‘He can share mine if he likes!’
‘’Spect he’s got his mind on other things, eh?’ Leaning down to hand the nipper his threepenny bit change, the man glanced across at Harry, thinking how sad the young fella looked. He could only have been in his thirties, yet he was bent and haggard like an old man. Curious, the older man observed Harry a moment longer, before turning away to serve his other customers.
A few moments later, still heavy of heart yet openly smiling and chatting for his son’s sake, Harry led Tom along the Esplanade and on towards where the car was parked near the statue of George III. ‘Are we going to see Mammy now?’ the boy asked eagerly.
Harry took a moment to answer, his gaze sweeping the child’s appearance. His thick mop of dark hair stood up as though in fright, and the pink strawberry sauce was plastered around his mouth. Oh, how he loved this child, and Sara … his Sara … his precious, wonderful Sara!
Swamped with emotion, he took the boy by the hand and ran him across the road.
‘Just look at the state of you!’ he said huskily. ‘We’d best clean you up, before your mammy sees you.’
Slurping on his ice cream, the boy ran and skipped, laughing heartily while his father pretended to chase him.
The boy did not fully realize the situation, but things had begun to change some time ago, when he had sensed a sadness in his parents. When he was near they smiled and pretended that everything was