The Loner (36 page)

If he himself didn’t deserve it, little Jimmy certainly did.

When he started on his way back, a pint in each fist, Don was amused and pleased to see one or two people still lingering, talking to Jimmy and patting him on the back.

As he approached, they wandered away. ‘There you are.’ He handed the little man a pint, from which he took a long, thirsty gulp.

‘Did you see them come and talk to me?’ Jimmy said excitedly. ‘Some of the best horse-breeders in the land and they came to congratulate
me
!’ He took another swallow of his cool pint. ‘See that man over there?’ He pointed to a red-faced man of large proportions. ‘He’s considered to be the richest owner of all … sends his foals all over the world, he does. Mind you, since old Frank Thomson got wed and retired a couple of months back, he’s had it more or less his own way.’

‘Who’s this Frank then?’ Don asked, out of no particular interest. ‘Good breeder, was he?’

‘Good!’ The little fella almost choked on his beer. ‘Frank Thomson was the best ever!’ He pointed to where a group of men were talking together. ‘See that young man over there? Well, he turned up at Frank’s place one day a few years ago – much like you did with me, as a matter of fact. Well, anyway, Frank took him on as stable lad. Then the yard manager committed a misdemean our, got sacked, and to cut a long story short, that young man there, well … he took over his job.’

He paused, his excitement at winning somehow overshadowed by what he now told Don. ‘This young fellow and Frank’s daughter recently got engaged. There was a party. The previous yard manager, jealous as hell, came back and set light to the stables.’ He shook his head. ‘Such wickedness. In the chaos, many horses died, along with the man who did it. The girl, poor young lass, was trampled underfoot. Frank was inconsolable. A short time later, he and his long-time housekeeper moved away and got married. And that young man there, well, he took off, but he stayed around these parts. Helps out where he’s wanted, beds down with the horses. Oh yes, he knows his way round horses. Frank knew he was good, or he would never have taken him on. Dave, his name is. Dave … Adams.’

Electrified he stared at Don, who had turned to stone, a question burning in his eyes.

For the longest, heart-stopping minute he didn’t recognise the man coming towards him. But in that split second of recognition when their eyes met, he gasped aloud, the words catching in his throat, so he could hardly breathe.

And then Don was running towards him, and the emotion was too much to bear. ‘Dad! … It’s my dad!’

Don caught him in his arms, and they hugged and cried, and when the hugging was done, Don held his son at arm’s length, his eyes shining and his heart full.

‘I always knew I’d find you,’ Dave told him.

And all Don could do was nod.

Together they went to Jimmy. ‘This is the boy in the picture I carry,’ Don said emotionally. ‘This is my son, and I’ve found him at last.’

Jimmy could find no words; his heart was too full. Oh dear, he’d known it all along – that Frank Thomson’s head groom was called Dave Adams … but the memory had stayed beneath the surface. This was what age did to you, he thought savagely, clutching his trophy. It made you about as much use as a piece of hay from a horse’s nosebag, blowing in the wind!

‘And now, we’re going home.’ Dave looked at his father. ‘We are, aren’t we, Dad?’

‘Yes, son.’ At long last, Don was at peace. ‘You and me… we’re going home.’

Jimmy thanked him, and as the two men walked away, he knew that the goodbyes were not forever.

Uncertain as to how he might take the news, Don informed him, ‘If my memory serves me right, I reckon she and Lenny are already wed.’

He didn’t see how the news had shocked Dave, because at that moment a lady entered their car-riage and they had to shove along these at.

‘She’ll be thrilled to see you, so she will,’ Don went on, in a low voice. ‘As will your grandad. Oh, just wait till he sees you, he’ll be over the moon, the dear old fella!’

At that moment, the lady’s small suitcase tumbled from the luggage-rack, scattering its contents all over the carriage floor, and her dog, a small Jack Russell, yapped so shrilly that further conversation was impossible.

However, to Dave’s yearning heart, the train wheels were rhythmically singing ‘
Travel-ling home! Travel-ling home!
’

Home
. What was there waiting for him? The house in Derwent Street, his beloved grandfather, eight years older, and a parcel of memories, to which hewould now bring his own. But he could get through it all, he knew, if only
she
were waiting for him, too.

Since Annie had been admitted, Lenny and Judy were never far away. They were there now, though Judy had gone to get a vase for the flowers they’d brought. Their wedding arrangements had been cancelled. Neither of them had the heart for it while their best friend was recovering from a suicideattempt.

Lenny sat by the bed, holding Annie’s hand. ‘I’m so glad your parents keep coming in to see you.’ Anniehad told him and Judy about thefall-ing-out at home, although she withheld the full truth. ‘We’ve all been so worried.’

Suddenly Annie was crying – bitter, guilty tears that wouldn’t stop. ‘I’m sorry!’ she kept sobbing. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘Hey!’ Instinctively he took her in his arms. ‘Cry if you need to,’ he murmured. ‘I’m here for you. Weall are.’

He misunderstood her reason for crying. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ he told her tenderly. ‘It’s a terrible thing that the baby was lost, but who knows … maybe it was meant to be?’ It seemed a feeble thing to say in the circumstances, but he was truly thankful that Annie herself had not been lost along with thechild. Becausesomething had happened to him.

When the news came through that Annie had tried to drown herself, and that if it hadn’t been for theyoung man, shewould haveperished, hewas devastated. Not only because she was a dear friend, as he thought. But because he knew then, that he loved her. It was Annie he wanted for a wife, and though heloved Judy, it was Anniewith whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. How could he not have seen this before? He had been too intent on pursuing thedream of winning Judy’s unwilling heart, to recognise the truth before his eyes.

‘Lenny?’

‘Yes?’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Go ahead.’

So Annie told him everything: how it was her brother Philip who had repeatedly abused her throughout her childhood; how he had raped her and left her pregnant, and how she had alerted her parents and told them the truth. But they would not believe her.

‘My God!’ Lenny was devastated. ‘Your own brother!’

Annie went on. ‘They didn’t believe me,’ she said broken-heartedly. ‘He lied and made them believe
him
. Hesaid I had gonewith a gypsy boy from thefairground.’

Lenny understood. ‘And that’s when you went out and tried to end it?’ He was filled with rage at what Philip had done. ‘You
must
makethem believe you! He
has
to bepunished!’

‘No!’ Annie drew him to her. ‘I’ve seen how ill and tired they look,’ she said. ‘My parents are good people. If they were to believe what he did … it would cripple them. I can’t do it, Lenny. I can’t punish them for what he did.’

Returning with the vase, Judy saw Lenny with his arms round Annie; shesaw how Annieclung to him, and she knew in her heart that it was love, and not friendship.

And shewas glad.

‘Here you are!’ She arranged the flowers in the vase and stood them where Annie could see. ‘There’s something to brighten your day,’ she said cheerfully, as Lenny released Annie from his embrace.

Just then, Annie’s parents appeared.

‘We’d best be off now,’ Judy said tactfully. She and Lenny each gave her a kiss, and as Judy walked on, Lenny whispered in Annie’s ear, ‘Do what you think best, sweetheart. Your secret’s safe with me.’

Smitten with guilt, Annie’s parents were at her bedside most every chance they got; today was no exception. ‘Will you tell us the truth, Annie?’ Evie asked, sitting down. Now that her beloved daughter was out of danger, and on the road to recovery, Evie Needham was determined to get at the truth. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t look her son in the eye. Life was an ongoing nightmare. ‘
Was
it thegypsy boy who madeyou with child, or was it …’ She could hardly bring herself to say it. ‘Was it our Philip?’

Annie looked at her mother and saw how sad and frail she appeared of late, and her father, standing at theend of thebed, a look of pain and confusion on his homely face; and she knew they must suffer no more.

‘Philip was right,’ she lied. ‘It
was
thegypsy boy from thefairground.’ She knew she had done right when all the pain seemed to ebb from their faces. ‘I’m sorry, Mam … Dad. I don’t know what I was thinking of, to blamePhil likethat.’

Evie held her tight. ‘It’s all over now,’ she said brokenly. ‘Let’s put it all behind us and start again, eh?’ When she looked at Annie as she did now, she could only see her child, her darling daughter whom she had nearly lost, throwing herself and her unborn child into the deep, dark waters of the canal.

Reaching up, Annie wiped her mother’s tears away. ‘No moretears,’ shesaid. ‘A new start, that’s what we’ve been given.’

‘Good girl.’ Derek came forward. He made no moveto takehis daughter in his arms, but hedid the next best thing; he held her hand and squeezed it. ‘We all of us make mistakes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about the child, but sometimes God works in mysterious ways. Happen it were for the best, eh?’ For a second, it almost seemed that he might know thereal truth of it all.

When Annie nodded, her gaze enveloping him with such daughterly affection, he leaned down and kissed her face. ‘You’ll do,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s my girl.’ He added something else too, while his wife poured out a glass of water behind him. ‘There’s a lock on your door now, pet.’