The Loner
This bestseller from Josephine Cox tells a story of running away from a secret but longing to go home.Home is where the heart is – but it's also where the pain lurks…After a tragic accident involving his mother, and the disappearance of his father, young Davie flees his hometown of Blackburn, to escape the haunting memories of the worst night in his young life. With little more than the shirt on his back and a fierce determination to find his father, he sets off on a lonely, friendless road.Back home, those Davie has left behind wait anxiously; Kathleen, his childhood friend who has held a secret close to her heart, and Joseph, his grandfather whose guilt burns right to his soul. Will they ever see Davie again?Eventually, Davie finds a friend and a place to stay. Perhaps now his heart and mind will find peace. But his hopes are shortlived when Fate urges him to decide whether to keep running or go back and face his demons.
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JOSEPHINE COX
The Loner
COPYRIGHT
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2007
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
Typeset in New Baskerville by
Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Source ISBN-13: 9780007221134
EBook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN 9780007279548 Version: 2017-08-10
DEDICATION
This book is for my Ken, as always
My thanks to my large and wonderful family forall the love and support you have always given me.And to my many friends, including the ones whoread my books and write to me. What would I dowithout all of you? Stay well, be good, and if youcan’t be good, be naughty!
CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
PART TWO
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART THREE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PART FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PART FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHATTERBOX
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EXTRACT
THE LONER
ALSO BY JOSEPHINE COX
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
PART ONE
Blackburn, 1955
The Road to Ruin
CHAPTER ONE
SHE MADE A ghostly figure as she silently wended her way through the dark, shadowy streets.
Late again, she thought. But there was little regret as she recalled the fun-filled evening, with good company and a man’s arms about her. Why should she feel guilty? What was so wrong about her having a good time? She was still relatively young and vibrant. The men liked her and she liked them, and there was more to life than sitting at home and being a good little wife. Life was too short for that.
As she turned into Derwent Street, she thought of young Davie. Only then did she feel ashamed. She hoped he wasn’t waiting up. She didn’t want to see the sadness in his eyes when he saw her arrive home at this late hour, giddy with booze and caring for nothing or no one, except him, her darling son.
‘You’re a bad woman, Rita Adams,’ she told herself. ‘You should have been home hours ago.’ She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘There’ll be sparks flying, you’ll see.’
Her unsteady footsteps echoed eerily against the pavement as she continued her way past the row of terraced houses. At this hour, most people were in bed and only one house was lit up. This was her home. This was where her family would be waiting and watching. She thought of her child again, and the guilt was cutting, ‘Davie’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve a mother like you.’ There were times when she hated herself.
Shivering in the cold night air, she clutched the lapels of her coat and drew it tighter about her. ‘Remember now,’ she muttered, ‘you’ve spent the evening with your old friend, Edna.’ Such lies, she thought. Such badness. She reached her gaze towards the twitching curtains and saw the shadowy figure of a man. ‘He’s waiting for you,’ she whispered nervously. ‘Best not let him guess what you’ve been up to.’ She giggled. ‘Best have your story good and ready.’
Each time she had a different excuse, and each time she became a better liar. Tormented, she thought of her long-suffering husband, and her ageing father whose house they lived in. But it was her son she mostly feared for: Davie was a fine and loving boy who did not deserve a mother like her. These three wonderful people were her family and she loved them with a passion, and God help them, they loved her too; more than she deserved.
After an evening of laughter and drink she remembered how it had been, in the back alley, the thrill of being in the arms of a stranger. She didn’t know his name, nor did she want to. They simply 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.
