Josephine Cox - The Beachcomber

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.

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2003

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2003

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

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Source ISBN: 9780007302000

Ebook Edition © APRIL 2012 ISBN 9780007373123

Version: 2019-07-02

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This book, and every book I will ever write, is for Ken, a man amongst men, my soulmate and inspiration forever.

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

NOTE TO READERS

DEDICATION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

PART TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER WORKS

KEEP READING

CHATTERBOX

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

‘WHAT THE HELL does he think he’s doing!’ As the car lurched forward, Tom fought to keep control. He had been taken by surprise when the car following seemed to deliberately crash into his bumper.

‘He’s coming at us again, Daddy!’ The two children in the back were thrown hard against the seat-backs by the first bump. They screamed a warning as the other car surged towards them a second time. There was a moment of chaos before the impact sent them hurtling towards the clifftops. ‘JESUS!’ He couldn’t hold it! They were going over … dear God, they were going over, and there was nothing he could do!

In that split second as he tried desperately to swing the car round, Tom glanced again through his rear-view mirror, needing to know who his attacker was, why he would want to hurt them. The car was a blue Hillman Minx, he thought, and the driver was crouched over its steering wheel, with a Homburg hat pulled low over his forehead and dark glasses hiding his eyes. It was impossible to get any idea of what he looked like. ‘Crazy bastard … back off. BACK OFF!’ In response Tom felt the violent impact as they were hit again, and again. Wrenched out of his hands, the steering wheel seemed to spin out of control.

‘God help us!’ His wife’s frightened voice penetrated the chaos of his mind. ‘Children! Get down behind the seats!’ she ordered fearfully. He heard the pitiful whimperings of his two children as they clung to each other. He saw his wife, strangely silent now, her face shocked with disbelief as she glanced back at their attacker. ‘My God!’ Suddenly she was on the seat, frantically attempting to reach the children, but it was too late.

When the car rammed them yet again, they lurched forward, the windscreen shattering all over them, the other driver showing no mercy. Determined, he stayed with them, revving up, sending them forward towards the edge, fast and furious.

Everything was happening so quickly … a matter of seconds, no more. There was no time to escape. By now the car was badly dented; the doors were jammed tight. Tom had tried everything in his power and it wasn’t enough. All manner of powerful emotions swept through him: disbelief; helplessness; and now sheer horror as the car became airborne.

There was a moment of eeriness, when the car appeared to pause in mid-air before the nose dipped and they fell into a downward plunge towards the rocks below. ‘Oh, dear God!’ Throwing himself across his wife, he yelled for the kids to ‘STAY DOWN! HOLD ONTO EACH OTHER!’ He could hear them sobbing, and now the soft, shivering sound of his wife’s voice in prayer. Death was only a heartbeat away .

He would not remember the thud as they bounced onto the rocks and rolled over and over, crashing and breaking towards the beach; nor would he recall the screams of people who scattered in all directions as the car skidded at breakneck speed towards the sea-edge. The clanging bells of the ambulances and police cars as they rushed to help fell on deaf ears. Like his wife and children, he was beyond all that.

The next thing he knew he had awoken in hospital. Bruised and battered, both his legs were broken and his neck was in a brace. When he woke it was with a scream for the children to ‘GET DOWN, KIDS … HOLD ON!’ In that unbelievable moment, his mind was alive with the memory of what had happened.

‘It’s all right … ssh!’ Gently the nurse settled him down again, her heart aching for what he must soon learn.

Later they told him that there was nothing they could have done to save Sheila or the children. ‘We tried and failed,’ the surgeon told him, hands outstretched and an expression of hopelessness on his kindly face. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The car had turned over on top of them. Tom himself had been thrown clear … lucky to be alive, they said. But he wasn’t ‘lucky’! He was angry, seething with a need to kill. Then he was sobbing, crippled with utter loneliness.

All through that terrible night the questions had burned bright in his mind. Who was the madman who had run them off the road? Why did he do it? WHY?