Josephine Cox - Journey’s End

‘Why do you think they never caught him after … after he …’ Her voice broke.

‘Because like all rats he knows all the dark places where he can scurry away and hide.’

‘Do you think he’s still alive?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Who knows? If there’s any justice, he’ll be rotting in the fires of Hell where he belongs!’

When now, Lucy turned away, her face cold and set with loathing, he asked tenderly, ‘Let me take you back, my darling. It might help to lay the ghosts.’

But Lucy would not be persuaded. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ she replied quietly.

Realising that Lucy had put up the barriers and he had no chance of getting close, Adam departed, leaving her to ponder on what he’d said.

Strolling to the dresser, Lucy held Barney’s photograph and for a time she looked at his familiar face, the strong set of his jaw, the light in those wonderful eyes, and the boyish, mischievous smile that played about his mouth. A sigh rippled through her body. So much to think about. So much guilt. And what about Vicky and the others? Should she write to them, or should she leave well alone?

The thought of revealing Barney’s long-held secret was almost unbearable. Lucy asked him: ‘How can I tell her how you put yourself through Hell, so she and your children could have peace of mind and security?’

She lingered a moment longer, tracing the profile of his face with the tip of her finger, and turning the whole idea over in her mind. ‘If the truth must be told, I pray they will find the strength to deal with it,’ she whispered.

As she walked away, Lucy turned back to the photo one last time. She thought of those on the other side of the Atlantic, and at last she knew what must be done. ‘I know I will have to tell them, Barney,’ she said out loud, ‘and I know it will come as a terrible shock. If I had it in my power, I would make it less painful for them.’ Her heart sank. ‘But it’s not.’

Squaring her shoulders, she searched inside herself for an answer, but there was none. ‘They would need to find the strength to live with it.’ The smallest hint of bitterness shaped her words. ‘Just as we did, all those long years ago.’

Outside, Elsie was chatting with the coalman, conveniently forgetting she was in a rush and making him chuckle as always. ‘I saw you in front as you came down the lane,’ she told him. ‘I might have begged a lift only you were too far away.’

A bumbling, homely sort with a wonky shoulder got from years of carrying heavy bags, the coalman joked, ‘So you don’t mind your arse being covered in coaldust then?’

‘Not really, no,’ Elsie replied. ‘I might tell yer, I’ve had worse than that in my time. But I’ve never had a ride in a coalcart.’

‘An’ would you enjoy two grown men fighting over yer?’

‘Hmh? That’ll be the day’

‘What would your Charlie say, if I let you sit on my cart?’

Elsie laughed. ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m willing if you are.’

‘I’d watch what you say if I were you.’ The coalman gave a naughty wink. ‘There’s many a man might take advantage of a remark like that.’

‘You behave yerself, Bert Peters!’ Elsie chided. ‘I’m too old in the tooth to be flirting with the likes of you – and besides, if I were to pounce on you now, you’d run a mile. Don’t deny it!’

Bert roared with laughter. ‘Aye, an’ if you were to pounce on me now, I’d more likely collapse. I’ve carried that many bags o’ coal today, me legs ’ave gone.’

Back in Knudsden House, Lucy heard their shrieks of laughter echo across the valley, and couldn’t help but smile. The world might be crumbling round your ears, she thought, but somehow, life went on.

Her thoughts returned to what Adam had said earlier, and her mind was made up.

Suddenly she knew what she must do. She looked up to the heavens, a deep yearning for peace flooding her heart. ‘I will go back and face the demons,’ she declared. ‘Maybe then, I can find some kind of peace.’

It would not be easy, she knew that. It had been a lifetime since she had travelled that particular road. When she left that familiar and much-loved place, she left behind a wealth of laughter, sun-filled days and happiness. The pain she took with her, for it had never gone away.

Her train of thought turned to the monster who had snuffed out her baby’s life.

‘Edward Trent, may you rot in Hell for what you did! You murdered your own son!’

She had no idea where he was. After the tragedy he had fled into the darkness of the night, and was never heard of again.

Many times over the years, Lucy had prayed that, somehow, he had been made to pay for the evil thing he did.

In the beginning, the hatred had eaten into her very soul, but now as the years caught up with her, after World War Two had changed everybody’s lives forever, she had learned not to let it rule her life. By contrast, with the passing of time, memories of Barney and the personal sacrifice he had made grew ever stronger; as did the need to put things right before it was too late.

She thought of how it had been, and her heart was sore. ‘I’m going back, Barney,’ she murmured. ‘Then I’m going to tell it all, to try and bring a measure of peace to Vicky, and the children.’

First, though, there was someone she needed to see.

THE GOVERNOR WAS busy poring over official documents when the knock came on the door. ‘Yes, who is it?’

The prison officer told him, ‘I’ve got Carter with me now, sir.’

At once the Governor’s face betrayed his repugnance. ‘Right! Let’s have him.’

Momentarily disappearing, the prison officer threw open the door and thrusting Edward Carter inside, positioned him before the desk. ‘All right, Carter! Stand up straight!’ he growled. Digging him in the back with the flat of his hand, he pushed the prisoner forward.

For a seemingly long time, the Governor remained in his seat, his head bent and his long bony finger flicking over the pages of his document. He neither spoke nor looked up.

When, beginning to tire, the prisoner lolled to one side, his hands sliding deep into his pockets, he was caught up short by another dig in the back, this time rougher and more meaningful.

Without raising his head, the Governor peered over his rimless spectacles. ‘Remember where you are, Carter. Hands out of your pockets … NOW!’ he ordered.

Wary of this new Governor, who had already proved himself to be a harsh disciplinarian, the man quickly did as he was told. After all, he had secrets to hide. Moreover, he had almost served his time and did not want to jeopardise his date of release.

Intending to unnerve the prisoner, the Governor continued to stare at him, his observant gaze taking in every detail of the man: the strong, stocky build, the inherent arrogance, the thick shock of greying hair and the deeply-etched lines on the once-young and handsome face.

Here was a puzzle, he thought. Carter was a devious cunning sort, capable of anything, a man seemingly without a background; though if it was ever uncovered, it would probably betray him as an evil and merciless creature.

While the Governor studied the prisoner, the prisoner did the same in return. He observed the lank dark hair and the small beady eyes behind the spectacles; the long sinuous fingers now drumming on the desktop, racking his nerves and sending a ripple of murderous intent through his every sense. There were many men inside this prison he would like to strangle, but the greatest pleasure would come from feeling his hands round the Governor’s slender white throat.

His train of thought was abruptly broken as the Governor smiled directly into his face. ‘You’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you, Carter?’ he asked tantalisingly. ‘You’d love to get your two big hands round my throat and squeeze the life out of me. I’m right, aren’t I? You hate me so much you can taste it.’