by Lynda Page
Copyright © 2012 Lynda Page
The right of Lynda Page to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7553 8099 2
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Lynda Page
About the Book
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter 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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lynda Page was born and brought up in Leicester. The eldest of four daughters, she left home at seventeen and has had a wide variety of office jobs. She lives in a village near Leicester.
Don’t miss her previous novels:
‘Inspirational and heart-warming’ Sun
‘When Lynda Page pulls the heart-strings, you won’t fail to be moved’ Northern Echo
By Lynda Page and available from Headline
Evie
Annie
Josie
Peggie
And One For Luck
Just By Chance
At The Toss Of A Sixpence
Any Old Iron
Now Or Never
In For A Penny
All Or Nothing
A Cut Above
Out With The Old
Against The Odds
No Going Back
Whatever It Takes
A Lucky Break
For What It’s Worth
Onwards And Upwards
The Sooner The Better
A Mother’s Sin
Time For A Change
No Way Out
Secrets To Keep
A Bitter Legacy
The Price To Pay
A Perfect Christmas
About the Book
When Glen Trainer is framed for a crime he didn’t commit he is powerless to stop his scheming wife from taking his home, his business and, worst of all, his beautiful daughter away from him.
Years later, living rough on the streets of Leicester, Glen meets Jan Clayton. She, too, has a heartbreaking story to tell but she is determined to put the past behind her and together they find the courage to start afresh. As Christmas approaches, Glen comes ever closer to finding his daughter but will his wish come true or does more heartache lie ahead?
For
Dawn Archer –
an extraordinary woman.
You are the stuff that heroines in books are made of – strong-minded, feisty, dependable, belly-achingly funny, an exceptional mother, a devoted wife . . . the list is endless. And not only that, but you are beautiful too. My life has been enriched beyond measure by having you in it.
With love
Your friend
Lynda x
CHAPTER ONE
The ragged man woke with a sudden jolt, sitting bolt upright, all his senses screaming danger at him. Urgently shaking off sleep, he fought to accustom his eyes to the dark as he looked around, trying to see what had woken him.
It might have been the drunken ravings of the group of tattered winos several yards away who huddled around a rusting brazier, kept going with anything they had been able to lay hands on. From the eye-watering stench and flares of black smoke spouting upward it was currently old lino and rubber tyres, the flames casting eerie shadows all around. It might have been the snoring or crying out in their sleep of those sheltering close by in their makeshift beds, or the religious maniac continuously reciting passages from the Bible in a fog-horn of a voice, completely ignoring the angry objections from those round about: ‘Shut the fuck up, for God’s sake, we’re trying to sleep.’ It might have been the scurrying and scratching of rats, some the size of cats, or flea-ridden stray dogs scavenging for scraps; the howl of the icy wind or the steady drips of water running down the crumbling brick walls to splash into puddles on the uneven ground below. But having joined the rest of the city’s unfortunates who had been reduced to seeking shelter inside the dank, gloomy railway arches, Glen Trainer was used to all these distractions.
His eyes came to rest on a shadowy figure lurking in a recess several feet away from him. Despite the murkiness of the dark winter’s night he knew it was a man – a tall one, apparently heavily built, but Glen was of the opinion it was the layers of threadbare clothes he was wearing that produced that impression – and that his eyes were fixed on Glen, weighing him up, planning to relieve him of anything of worth.
Under the holed brown blanket covering him, Glen flicked open the penknife he always carried close to hand. Since he’d arrived here not a single night had gone by without some sort of confrontation taking place, mostly over trivial matters. On his first night, in fact, he’d been powerless to prevent a pack of drink-crazed men from beating another virtually to a pulp, leaving him for dead, for the sake of the half-empty bottle of methylated spirits he was in the process of downing. The man would be dead now had not Glen carried him to the hospital for urgent treatment. Glen hadn’t seen him since and hoped the other man had more sense than to return here. He himself had been robbed several times in the past, and what possessions he’d managed to accumulate since could be contained in a small sack. No doubt most people would consider them worthless, but to Glen they were priceless and he wasn’t about to let this stranger steal them from him.
Taking a deep breath, he addressed the menacing shadow in a firm tone. ‘Look, I don’t drink, don’t smoke, and have nothing on me worth risking your life for. I do have a knife, though, which I will use if you give me no other choice.’ To prove his threat was no bluff, Glen withdrew his hand from under the blanket and held out the knife in such a way that light from the brazier glinted on the blade.
Despite this warning the other man moved not a muscle. Glen began to feel afraid. Had the man a weapon that would make his own penknife seem puny? There was no point in hoping any of the other inhabitants would come to his aid, he knew. Fear escalated as a terrible thought occurred to him. Would these breaths he was taking prove to be his last? His cu
rrent way of life might be considered pretty worthless, but regardless he didn’t wish for death as the way out of it, and especially not in this hellhole of a place at the hands of a stranger. It was the coward’s way out but he knew that the only sensible thing for him to do would be to throw over his sack of belongings to the aggressor then make a run for it, hoping he didn’t give chase. As he made to pick up the sack and throw it over, however, to Glen’s shock the other man turned and strode off, disappearing into the depths of the arches, his tattered clothing billowing out behind him.
After a few moments had passed Glen exhaled in relief. His words seemed to have done the trick and this sinister meeting had passed without incident. But if he stayed here amongst such desperate men he knew there would inevitably be a next time and then he might not get off so lightly. For all he knew the other man was still lurking somewhere, waiting for him to slump back into sleep before he made another attempt to relieve Glen of his precious belongings. It was time he found somewhere else to lay down his head.
Sack of belongings secured to the worn belt of his frayed trousers and concealed underneath a shabby army greatcoat, holey woollen hat pulled right down over his bush of matted hair, equally holey scarf wrapped around his neck, he began to make his way out of the arches, hoping to depart without attracting any attention to himself.
He’d taken no more than half a dozen steps when he stopped dead, hearing someone crying nearby. It was unmistakably the sound of a woman in great distress. He frowned. The women he had encountered in the underworld he now inhabited were definitely not the sort to display any shred of vulnerability, not in a place like this where they would without doubt be taken advantage of by those who perceived themselves as stronger. But as desperate as he was to be away from here Glen couldn’t bring himself to leave a woman at the mercy of the rabble who sheltered in the arches.
Following the sound of the crying, he manoeuvred his way around several sleeping bodies, all clutching their pitiful belongings, and towards a recess in the wall. As he neared it, the outline of a huddled figure, knees bent, arms wrapped around its head, materialised in the gloom. From what he could see it didn’t appear that this woman was the sort who belonged in a place like this. Although rumpled, her clothes looked to him far too clean and in too good a condition for someone who lived rough. Glen decided that the woman must have lost her way, found herself in this den of iniquity by accident and needed help finding her way out.
He leaned over and placed one hand gently on her knee. He was just about to offer his help in whatever way he could, when a loud scream of terror rent the air. Following that, he felt a tremendous thud against the side of his head. As he crumpled to the floor and before everything blacked out, Glen realised that his life probably was going to end in this hellhole of a place, not while attempting to fend off an assailant but because he’d tried to be a Good Samaritan.
CHAPTER TWO
The searing pain in his head brought Glen back to consciousness. If someone had told him a piston was inside his skull, thumping away rhythmically at full speed, he wouldn’t have questioned it. But the pounding in his head wasn’t the only thing he was having to contend with. Someone was shrieking . . . hysterically. In his befuddled state he couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman or decipher what they were yelling. But the racket they were making was preventing him from gathering his jumbled thoughts together, to work out just what had happened to him.
He managed to groan, ‘Please will you stop that yelling or my head will explode?’
Mercifully the shouting ceased and a woman’s voice cried, ‘Oh, thank God you’re not dead! Thank God. Thank God.’ Then her tone of relief became defensive. ‘But if I had killed you, I was only acting in self-defence.’
Glen was tentatively examining the side of his head with one hand, fully expecting to find half of it gone considering the pain he felt. His fingers touched a lump under his hat. It felt as big as an ostrich egg and he let out a small cry of: ‘Ouch!’ How on earth did he come to be lying here on the ground with an injury like this to his head? Then memory flooded back and he accused her, ‘You attacked me!’
Her tone of voice was still defensive. ‘Well, what did you expect me to do? Just sit back and allow you to do whatever you were about to?’
He managed to force open his eyes but couldn’t lift his head to look at his assailant as he was feeling disorientated, still seeing stars, though not so many as when he’d first come round. Scowling down at the hard ground, he queried: ‘What was I about to do?’
‘Rob me or . . .’
‘Or what?’ he snapped. ‘Listen, lady, the only thing I was attempting was to offer my help. You were upset . . . crying. I was concerned for you.’
There was silence for a moment before she uttered, ‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Then defiance returned to her voice. ‘Well, how was I to know?’
‘You could have asked before you whacked me! Just what did you hit me with, by the way?’
‘My handbag.’
‘A handbag! What do you carry in it . . . a ton of bricks?’
‘No, just one. A woman has to protect herself from the likes of you in this Godforsaken place.’
He managed to lift his head then and look at her. The light was poor and it was difficult to tell her age or what she looked like, her face being cast into shadow, but he guessed she was in her early-forties and, from the coat and headscarf she was wearing, appeared just like an ordinary housewife, albeit with her clothes rumpled and a little dishevelled. What the likes of her was doing in this place he couldn’t begin to guess. He wanted to be angry with her for inflicting such unprovoked injury on him, but he also appreciated the reason why she’d lashed out. The characters who frequented this place were about as unsavoury as they came and she would have no reason to believe he was any different. ‘Look, I know I might not look exactly my best,’ he said, ‘but we’re not all thieves, winos, drug addicts or murderers, you know. Many of us haven’t chosen to live this life, but circumstances have given us no choice in the matter.’
Janet Clayton narrowed her eyes and looked him over. What she saw was a shambles of an individual, wearing clothes that should have been cremated a long time ago. It was hard to determine his age and whether he was good-looking or ugly as his face was hidden under a mass of facial hair, and it was her guess that under his holey woollen hat the hair on his head was equally as bushy and matted. The smell coming off him was vile. She doubted his body or clothes had seen soap and water for a very long time. She shuddered as it struck her that he was probably riddled with body and head lice and that she was in close enough proximity to catch them from him. There was one thing that confused her about this man, though. He didn’t blaspheme or have a coarse tone of voice, as she had always expected from low-bred people of his ilk.
Her look of utter revulsion made Glen inwardly cringe. He had lost count of the number of times he’d been viewed in this way by the general public. The humiliation and shame he experienced never diminished. As always he felt a desire to crawl into a hole and hide himself away from critical eyes. Despite still feeling woozy from the blow to his head, he struggled up, muttering, ‘I need to get off.’
Jan watched him stumble away unsteadily, keeping as close to the wall as possible, skirting around the rowdy drunken group gathered around the brazier. The fright and disgust she felt were making her nauseous.
Under normal circumstances she would never have placed herself within a dozen yards of such lowlifes, let alone actually be close enough to breathe the same air as them, but then her circumstances were far from normal at present and she was acutely aware that if she didn’t do something to change them, and quickly, very soon she would look and smell like the dirty creatures she found herself amongst now, being perceived as the dregs of the earth by the rest of society.
But how she’d get herself out of this situation was anyone’s guess.
Thinking of her circumstances brought a fresh swell of miserable tears to her ey
es. She felt so alone and vulnerable. She was ravenously hungry but all she wanted to do was sleep for a while, to find some relief from the nightmare she was living. She pulled her coat around her and turned up her collar. Clutching her handbag to her, she slumped back against the hard wall and tried to make herself comfortable on the uneven ground, but just as she was about to close her eyes she realised with horror that several of the inebriated men around the brazier had noticed her and were taking more than a passing interest. Sheer panic overwhelmed her. When she had belived she was being accosted a few minutes ago she had screamed blue murder yet not one of the other inhabitants in this place had even looked in her direction to see what she was howling about, nor had they when she thought she had killed her suspected attacker, so if these men were taking an interest in her now it was for no good reason and she couldn’t expect anyone else to come to her aid, no matter how loud she screamed.
Her heart was pounding. She needed to get out of here . . . fast.
The only exit she was aware of was the way by which she around had come: past the men closely watching her now, standing around the blazing brazier; the same way that the tramp she was sure had been about to attack her had made his departure. Holding her handbag like a weapon, a determined look on her face, she took a deep breath before weaving her way towards the entrance. On nearing the men by the brazier, she skirted around them as far as was possible and in a meaningful tone addressed the ones taking an interest in her.
‘I’m warning you, don’t any of you make a move towards me or you’ll be on the receiving end of this.’ She waved the bag at them. ‘It’s got a . . . boulder in it. A huge one. Big enough to knock any of you into next Wednesday. If you think I’m bluffing then go and ask the man who’s just left. He tried it on with me, and he’s lucky to be alive.’
She was almost past them now, daring to think that her threat had worked. The men’s interest in her had waned and they seemed to have returned to carrying on with their drinking and rowdy gambling games. Then she noticed that one of them was still staring at her intently, a nasty glint in his beady eyes as he drained the dregs of his bottle of meths. If she had been able to see his mouth under his matted beard she would have seen a malicious smirk. There was no question what was on his mind.