‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve been there, done that.’ He smiled. ‘So, is the inquisition over now, little Miss Nosy?’
‘Don’t you miss the north?’
‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
‘What about family and friends – wouldn’t you like to get back amongst them?’
‘I was an only child and my father died when I was sixteen,’ Jack answered. ‘My mother soon remarried and moved to America with her new husband. I heard later that she’d taken on three teenage children, a house the size of Buckingham Palace, and money coming out of their ears.’ He gave a wry little smile. ‘I never heard from her again. But it didn’t matter, because even before she left she never had any time for me. I think she saw me as a waste of space.’
‘Aw, that’s awful!’ The young woman could not imagine life without her own, doting parents.
‘Truth is, I never missed her after she was gone. I’d been left to my own devices for years. So, when Dad died and Mother took off, I sorted myself out, just like I’d always done.’
When she had abandoned him, his mother left him an address, but she must have moved quickly on, because when he wrote to that address, the letter came back, stamped Return to Sender. He was not surprised. In the end, he set about making his own way in the world.
It had not been easy – and there’d been no chance of taking up the place he’d been offered at Manchester University, which he’d regretted for a long time – but he was proud of what he’d achieved.
When he relayed all this to the girl, she tutted. ‘So, your mother turned her back on you. Well, it’s her loss, not yours.’ She quickly regretted her curt, throwaway remark. ‘Oh look, Jack . . . one day she’ll turn up on your doorstep, you’ll see.’
Jack used to think the same, but it had been too long and now he had no desire to ever see her again. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ he replied with a shrug.
‘What about friends?’ she prompted. ‘You must have made some of those?’
‘Well yes, there were school-friends, of course, but we lived too far apart to become lifelong buddies. We went to school, then we left and got on with our lives.’
‘And neighbours? Did you not make friends with some of the neighbours’ kids?’ She could see he was impatient to be off, but did not want to let him go just yet.
Jack’s mind went back along the years. ‘There were no boys of my age living in the street,’ he recalled. ‘I knew all the neighbours though, because after my father passed on, my mother carried on working for a while. She did shifts on reception at the Kings Hotel, and it seems I was bandied about like a little parcel . . . or so Eileen told me.’
‘Who’s “Eileen”?’ Jealousy sharpened her voice. ‘An old girlfriend?’
Jack laughed at that. ‘Hardly.’ It was all coming back now. ‘Eileen was Libby’s mother.’
‘So who’s Libby?’
‘My friend. When my mother went out to work, Eileen would sometimes look after me, and she’d bring Libby round with her. She’d read us stories, do puzzles with us and have lots of fun, and sometimes she’d take us to the park.’ He remembered it all so vividly. ‘Eileen Harrow was more of a mother to me than my own mother,’ he said in a low voice.
‘What about when you were older, though?’ Jan wanted to know. ‘Did you have friends at secondary school?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Not what you might call real friends,’ he said. ‘Truth is, apart from an ongoing friendship with Libby, I was a bit of a solitary sort. I preferred my own company.’
When the visions rose in his mind, he quickly excused himself, giving her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Jan, I’d best get on.’ One word; the tiniest memory – and they invaded his mind. He dared not let them loose. He dared not!
Behind him, the girl watched him go. ‘You’re a handsome devil, Jackie boy,’ she murmured. ‘If you’d only give us a chance, you and me could be great together.’ Knowing it would never happen, she gave a heavy sigh. If Jack Redmond had clicked his fingers, he could have any girl he wanted – she knew that. Trouble was, he only had eyes for that bossy-boots Molly Davis from Banbury’s. It was obvious that Jack adored his Molly, but Molly was rumoured to be anybody’s, as long as they had a fat wallet. Still, there was no one more blinded than a man in love, Jan thought enviously.
The reminiscing had lifted Jack’s spirits. He made himself a coffee, then went into his office with the idea of tackling the day’s schedule. After turning on his computer, he took his coffee to the window, where he looked out across the yard and beyond, to the main road, now choked with traffic. For a while he sipped his tea and thought of Molly. Maybe he really should get help? But he’d been through all that as a child. The doctors gave him games to play and things to do; they tested his mind until he was dizzy, but nothing changed.
Nothing ever changed.
In the end the medical men told his parents he would grow out of the bad dreams, and they had to be satisfied with that. On the day Jack turned sixteen, his father was badly hurt in a factory fire and died soon after. Two years later, in 1996, his mother took off to America for her new life.
Before she left, she told Jack he was to blame for his father’s early passing. ‘You’re the one who killed him,’ she ranted. ‘You knocked the stuffing out of Gordon – all that trouble from school, then the screaming in the night. There’s something wrong with you, I’m sure of it! You should be locked away.’ Soon after that, she packed up, lock, stock and barrel, and sold the family home, leaving her son with his late father’s silver tank-ards and the sum of £1,000 to make his own way in the world.
Just now, going through the past, Jack knew he had to make a decision. Things could not carry on as they were. Surely the right thing to do – both for Molly and for his own peace of mind – was to face up to his demons.
‘OK, Molly, you win,’ he decided. ‘I’ll take your advice and talk to the doctor. After all, what have I got to lose?’
He suddenly felt as though an unbearable weight had fallen from his shoulders. Besides, his GP, Dr Lennox, was a very understanding man. ‘That’s it!’ Going over to his desk drawer, Jack took out a batch of paperwork, and concentrated his mind on that. ‘Decision made!’
BOWER STREET IN Blackburn was a quiet little street of ordinary homes and ordinary families. Like families everywhere, they all had their problems, but the mother and daughter at Number 20 had more than their fair share. On this fine brisk morning, Eileen Harrow was in an angry mood.
‘If I want him in my bed, that’s for me to decide – and you, my girl, should learn to mind your own business!’
The sixty-year-old woman had entertained many men in her bed these past years, and though her judgement was sadly misguided, her determination never wavered. ‘I’m sorry, Libby. I know your father did wrong by you, by going off when he did, but that’s all in the past – and if I can forgive him, why can’t you?’
While Libby frantically searched for an answer, the older woman jabbed a finger at her. ‘All right, then. Forgive him, don’t forgive him – it’s up to you. But I will not have my own daughter telling me what to do!’
‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mum. I only want you to be safe.’
‘Why can’t you forgive him?’ Eileen persisted. ‘If I’m ready to forgive him, you should be too.’ Fired up and itching for an argument,