The Broken Man
Sometimes a damaged child becomes a broken man…It’s 1954 and Adam Carter is twelve years old, an only child with no friends nor any self confidence. His father Edward is a bully of a man. A successful and ruthless businessman, he breeds fear into the heart of his family. Adam’s mother Peggy is too cowed to protect her son, so Adam’s only support comes in the shape of Phil Wallis, the school bus driver.One particular afternoon, when Adam is his last drop of the day, Phil decides to accompany him along the darkening wood land to his house, never suspecting that as they chat innocently, in the house at the end of the track a terrible tragedy is unfolding which will change Adam’s life forever.
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2013
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2013
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of 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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Source ISBN: 9780007419913
Ebook Edition © October 2013 ISBN: 9780007419906
Version: 2017-05-22
To my darling Ken, as always.
To the musical Murphy family in Ireland. Hope all is well with you. Much love, Jo x
Contents
THERE WAS SOMETHING disturbing about young Adam.
Deep inside, he carried a secret that he could never tell anyone.
Phil knew, though, because he recognised that certain look: the slump of the shoulders; the sad eyes that gave little away.
Having fought for king and country, Phil knew what it was like to carry a secret. Over the years he had learned to live with the vivid memory of terrible scenes he had witnessed.
He could banter with old companions, but the loneliness of guarding his secret was often unbearable.
Though his life was not empty, he ached for the company of a very special person, the one lovely woman he had loved with every fibre of his being. The only woman who was able to bring sunshine into his life, even on a rainy day.
He kept himself busy helping his neighbours and occasionally meeting up with locals down at the pub. He earned his living by driving the school bus, and when the working day was over, he would go home to an empty house, make his tea and, afterwards, sit in his chair and light up his faithful old pipe. Before it got dark, he would take a leisurely stroll through the countryside, his little mongrel dog, Rex, tripping along beside him.
Phil appreciated his few simple pleasures, though he would have given everything to turn the clock back to a time when he was younger and fitter, and fortunate enough to have a loving wife.
Now, though, he would make his way home as always, and except for the faithful little dog who was never far from his side, the house would be empty.
Now at night, he went up to his bed; alone. At first light he woke up; alone. He had no one special to laugh or cry with, no one to slide his arm around when he felt loving. And there was no one close with whom to share any titbits of gossip or maybe a smile at the occasional naughty tricks the schoolchildren got up to on the bus.
There was no one to chastise him when he left the tap running, or when he casually threw his worn shirt on the bedroom floor. It was a hard truth that after many happy years married to a wonderful woman, he was now a man on his own, with only memories and his dog for company.
The loneliness weighed heaviest on him in the evenings. He longed for things once familiar, like making a pot of tea for two, and sharing it over a cheery fire, or maybe cutting fresh flowers from his little garden, and seeing his wife’s pretty smile as he handed them to her.
Those precious times had been dearly missed these past four years, since his beloved wife lost her fight against a long illness.
Phil’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a flicker of movement reflected in the driver’s mirror. Glancing up, he saw his last passenger, young Adam Carter, climbing out of his seat to make his way down the bus. He was far too quiet and serious for his age. There were times when Phil had caught the boy so deep in thought he was oblivious to the other children around him and he had no particular friend with whom he always sat. In Adam, Phil saw a troubled, frightened boy.
‘We’re nearly there, son!’ he called encouragingly.
Phil manoeuvred the vehicle over to the verge, where he parked, applied the handbrake, and prepared to let the boy off.
