Journey's End

by Josephine Cox

  ‘Ssh! Who’s that?’ On hearing a noise downstairs, he sat up to listen. ‘I could swear I heard a door go … listen!’ There was another clatter, followed by a mouthful of abuse.

  Fearful, Lizzie leaped out of bed. Throwing him a dressing-gown, she hissed instructions. ‘Get in the back room – quick, dammit!’

  He hesitated. ‘Who is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Patsy. She has a key. Sometimes she calls round on her way home from the club. She’s a cloakroom attendant in a nightclub – works evenings and weekends.’

  He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘What! You mean to tell me that big-mouth sister of yours is downstairs right now? Gawd Almighty, woman, what the devil are you playing at?’

  She began to panic. ‘Quick! It’s best if she doesn’t catch us together.’ While she talked she quickly dressed. ‘You know how she feels about you. She’s never forgotten how you used me.’

  Suddenly the door burst open and there she was, a wizened figure with small sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. ‘What’s all this?’ From the slur in her voice it was obvious she was the worse for drink.

  Her quick eyes went to Trent, who made no move; instead he stared back defiantly. ‘Hello, Patsy, my love,’ he growled. ‘I’d like to say you’ve aged well, but you haven’t – not like your baby sister here. You see, I’ve just been admiring her figure – plumper than the last time I saw her, though a pleasant handful all the same. More filled out and soft to the touch,’ he gave a nauseating wink, ‘if you know what I mean?’

  For what seemed an age she looked at him, eyes widening as she began to recognise who he was. ‘Edward Trent … the baby-snatcher!’ The blood drained from her face. ‘You bastard! What are you doing here?’

  Smiling and arrogant, he pointed to their half-naked bodies, ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

  Taking him by surprise, she launched herself at him. ‘Get out of here! Go on, get out of here now, you no-good filth.’ Drawing blood, her nails caught him across the cheekbones. ‘It was your fault we lost our dad. You worried him sick with the way you carried on – bedding a girl half your age and laughing in his face when he begged you to leave her alone. And as if that wasn’t enough, you beat him half to death before you ran off like the coward you are. Go on! Get away from her, you dirty bastard! She doesn’t need your sort.’

  ‘You’re drunk as usual.’ Lizzie took hold of her. ‘Leave him alone! I want him here – I invited him.’ Lizzie tried to pull her away but she was no match for her sister’s bull-like strength.

  Suddenly it was uproar, with Patsy hellbent on gouging out his eyes, and Trent fighting to get his clothes back on.

  ‘What the devil’s going on in there?’ From downstairs the front door rattled under a barrage of thumps. ‘I’m calling the police! D’you hear me up there? If the noise doesn’t stop right now, I’m fetching the bizzies!’

  Fearing the police more than anything else, Trent threw Patsy off. ‘I’ll be back,’ he told Lizzie. ‘I promise I’ll be back.’ No drunken slag was running his life, that was for sure.

  Outside, he airily told the neighbours who had gathered there, ‘It was a row that got out of hand. No need for the police to get involved.’ With that, he sauntered off, leaving them nattering amongst themselves. ‘Nosy rats!’ he muttered angrily. But his anger became uncontrolled rage when he thought of what Patsy had said … called him ‘filth’. Nobody did that to him, let alone a woman.

  Fingering the scratches on his face, he licked the blood from his finger. ‘Want to kill me, do you?’ he smiled. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Patsy my love, but you will never see the day.’

  At the end of the street he waited until the neighbours had gone back to their holes, then retraced his steps as far as the shop doorway, where he slid inside and stayed hidden in the shadows for what seemed hours. He grew cold and began to shiver, but his determination kept his angry blood warm.

  It was two hours later when she came out; he heard her loud, aggressive voice: ‘You’re not to let him through that door, d’you hear me? He’s no good and never will be. If you ask me, he’s spent the last twenty years in prison. Pity they didn’t hang the no-good layabout! If he comes back, I’ll do for him, and then it won’t matter any more, because he’ll be out of your life for good and all.’

  Then she lowered her voice and it was all he could do to hear her. He shifted closer, cringing as she issued instructions.

  ‘Remember how he treated you last time. For pity’s sake, our kid, stay away from him. Think what he did – beat our dad senseless, broke your arm, and left not an inch of flesh on your bones that wasn’t bruised or bleeding.’

  Her voice shook with rage. ‘He’d better not come back, that’s all I’m saying, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

  As she came up the street it was easy to see from her unsteady gait that she had consumed even more booze while under her sister’s roof.

  When she passed within inches of him, Trent pressed back into the darkness. He saw her mean profile and the hard set of her mouth. Her shoulders were stooped as though she carried the weight of the world on them, and he hated her with every fibre of his being.

  A few minutes later, she was almost run over when a lone taxi driver had to slam on his brakes in order to avoid her swaying figure. ‘You silly mare! I nearly ran into you! Stay on the path, why don’t you!’ He went away, shaking his fist out the window, while she made a rude gesture and told him to, ‘Sod off, you useless git!’

  All fired up, Trent followed, keeping enough distance between them so she was not able to detect his presence.

  As they neared the river, the street-lamps became further apart and the streets grew darker, until now they were so close to the water he could reach down and touch it. The walkways were deserted at this time of night, which suited his plan.

  When they descended towards the railings, he got so excited he let his concentration lapse and didn’t take enough care where he was walking; the loose stone bounced from under his foot and hit the side of the railings. Startled, Patsy turned round, peering into the darkness. ‘Who’s there?’

  He gave no reply. Instead he remained still as a statue, not daring to move, thankful for the shadows that were thrown in his direction from an isolated nearby street-light.

  She stood quite still for a while, her small sharp eyes cutting through the night air, but not seeing him at all.

  Muttering under her breath, she went on.

  At the end of the walkway, the railings broke where the steps led down. There she stumbled, leaning on the railings before spewing her heart out all down the steps.

  Delighted, he took his opportunity.

  As he dashed forward, she heard him and turned round, her face open with surprise. ‘You!’ Wiping the vomit from her mouth she demanded to know what he was doing, sneaking about in the middle of the night. ‘If you think you can make me change my mind about you and my sister, you can think again,’ she slurred, ‘because if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll turn her against you. I won’t be satisfied until she hates you as much as I do!’

  Her tirade ended in a gasp as he lunged at her with both arms outstretched. One vicious push and her unsteady legs couldn’t hold her.

  As she went tumbling down the stairs, her head hit the steps, dulling her senses and making her lose all sense of direction. When she ended up in the river, he laughed out loud. ‘Not so clever now, are you, eh? Met your match, haven’t you?’

  He watched as she floundered in the murky waters, her head appearing then disappearing, her eyes staring at him in disbelief each time she surfaced. ‘Help!’ She found the strength to scream out. ‘Somebody help me!’

  He looked round. There was nothing to hand, save for a wooden bench nearby. When she wouldn’t stop screaming, he wrenched a plank of wood from the seat, waited until she surfaced again and threw it like a spear at her head. There was a muffled thud, a frantic splashing of hands, then silence. W
onderful, calming silence.

  He stared into the water, making sure. But no! There was no sign of her at all. However, in the flickering light there appeared to be a patch of darker water on the surface. In the back of his mind he thought it might be her life’s blood. Serve her damned well right. The bitch had had it coming.

  Christ, he had a headache! Trent took a deep breath, then, smiling to himself, and satisfied with a job well done, he walked away, a lazy, swaggering walk.

  As though he had all the time in the world.

  Chapter 18

  SPRING IN Boston, Massachusetts, could be chilly, but today the weather was so exceptionally cold that even the workmen kept stopping in their labours to rub their hands together in an effort to get the blood flowing.

  ‘I reckon all my toes have dropped off.’ Born in the far reaches of Scotland, and used to weather extremes, the truck-driver was frantically stamping his feet in order to revive them. ‘How much longer before I can be away?’

  ‘Last panel coming down now.’

  Having spent these many years working on the spread for Leonard Maitland, the burly foreman was accustomed to being outdoors in all weathers; summer, winter – it made no difference to him. If a job needed doing, it had to be done properly, and dismantling this huge grain-barn was just another task.

  ‘CLEAR AWAY!’ When the cry went up, the workmen ran to safety while the mighty crane toppled the one remaining fifty-foot-high panel. The jaws of the crane wrenched the heavy timber from its roots and with the sound of creaks and groans, the timber lurched sideways before falling to the ground, broken and buckled as it dug itself into the soil.

  It was then just a matter of sawing the pieces into smaller, more manageable sizes, which were then hoisted onto the back of the truck to be taken away. ‘I’m not sorry to see the back of that.’ As the dismantled grain-barn was driven away, the foreman stood back to survey the damage. ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen down before now.’

  The old barn had covered a huge area of prime farming land, which was now scarred and torn by the immense weight of falling timber.

  ‘The soil will find its own level in a week or so,’ the foreman told his men. ‘Meantime, we’ve a few miles of ditch-dredging to get on with, before the better weather returns.’ When that happened, the land would keep them toiling non-stop, until the last harvest was taken.

  From the top of the mound, Leonard felt a surge of sadness when he saw the grain-barn topple. ‘That barn has been standing longer than I’ve been alive,’ he told his faithful old mongrel, Chappie. ‘But it’s a fact of life – we all grow old and outlive our usefulness.’ That’s how he felt now, useless and old.

  He was especially vulnerable these days, what with Vicky gone from his life, and the children torn two ways over the recent revelations regarding their father and the sacrifice he made for them. ‘Will she ever come back?’ he murmured. ‘My life is so meaningless, so empty without her.’ Not a minute went by when he wasn’t thinking of her. He was desperate to go to England and find her, yet afraid in case he only made a bad situation much worse. He hoped and prayed she would come home soon, of her own volition. Because, God help him, he couldn’t live without her.

  He walked on. Following the bridleway which ran along the perimeter of the fields, he paused a while and raised his gaze to the far-off horizon. ‘See that?’ he asked the old dog. ‘Every square inch of land as far as you can see belongs to me. But it means nothing, not without Vicky by my side.’

  ‘Morning, Mr Maitland!’ The young woman on the bicycle gave him a cheery wave. She passed him every morning on her way to help milk the cows and pack the eggs, and turn her hand to anything else that came along.

  ‘Morning, Jeanie, how’s your mom?’

  ‘Better by the day,’ she said merrily. ‘She said to thank you for the eggs you sent her.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, I’m sure.’ He gave her a wave and went on his way.

  Entering through the stable-yard, he stopped to talk with the groom while Chappie trotted off to meet the other couple of dogs there. ‘How’s the gelding coming along?’ he asked.

  ‘Raring to go,’ the young man replied with a grin. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  The gelding, Jack, was a favourite of Leonard’s; big and strong, it took his weight without hesitation. ‘What did the vet say?’

  Strolling along beside the boss, the groom told him excitedly, ‘Well, as you know, he feared Jack might have to be put down, but this morning, he was really pleased with the way the wound is healing. The swelling has gone down, and the bone is intact. Jack’s still limping slightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered when he puts his weight forward.’

  ‘Well, that’s a blessing, at least.’ Leonard was relieved. ‘He’s a fine horse. It would be a sin and a shame to have had him put down.’

  When they got to the stable, the horse heard Leonard’s voice and came to look over the door. ‘See what I mean?’ The groom was thrilled. ‘All fired up and ready for action.’

  Letting himself into the stable, Leonard asked the gelding to lift its hoof and it did so without fuss. But the minute Leonard bent to examine the wound, it shuffled nervously. ‘Woah, boy, I’m not here to hurt you.’

  With soothing words he calmed the animal before taking a good look at the six-inch wound which, as the groom had already explained, was healing nicely. ‘Wonderful!’ Leonard gently released the limb. ‘Good fella,’ he said, stroking the softness of the horse’s neck. ‘You’ll soon be out on the bridleways. But you’re one lucky Jack! A kick like that would have finished any other horse, but you’ve come through and I’m proud of you.’ He laughed as the horse nuzzled up to him, tickling his hand with the fine hairs around his big, soft nostrils. ‘All right, all right. No need to keep thanking me.’

  Outside, he discussed the future of the bad-tempered stallion, Duke, that had kicked the younger horse. ‘I’ve never known a horse to go for another one, like he went for Jack. A vicious kick like that could have snapped his leg clean in two!’

  ‘Have you decided what to do with him?’ asked the groom.

  ‘I’m thinking of selling him on. I’ve had two good offers, but the money isn’t the priority. It’s knowing he’ll go to a good home. Duke’s been a faithful old fella. It wouldn’t be fair to let him go to just anybody because of one jealous moment.’

  ‘So, that’s what you think it was, that he was jealous of the young gelding?’ The groom wasn’t so sure.

  Leonard nodded. ‘I do think that, yes – mainly because he’s never done anything like it before, and it happened only weeks after we brought the gelding in. Besides, Jack did escape into Duke’s field, and you know how territorial he can be.’

  For some time, the groom had not been happy with the older horse, and he said so now. ‘You know, Mr Maitland, how some stallions can turn rogue without warning, and when they do, it’s a bad thing.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be doing it again, not on this yard,’ Leonard declared. ‘We’ve got eight horses here, all of them good, honest animals, and I’m not willing to take risks with any of them.’

  He glanced towards the stallion who was at the field gate. ‘At the same time, I want the best for him. We’ve had him a long time and he’s never put a foot wrong until now. I’m determined to find him a good home, where he’ll be treated properly.’

  ‘So, who have you got in mind?’

  ‘I’ve arranged for Georgie O’Sullivan, who runs the stables for Abe Devine, to come down and look at Duke later this afternoon.’

  The groom was impressed. ‘O’Sullivan, eh? If anybody knows a thing or two about horses, it’s the Irishman.’

  ‘Right!’ Leonard wholeheartedly agreed. ‘I have urgent business in Boston, but I’ve explained everything to Georgie. He knows what he’s getting, and he knows I’ll stand for no nonsense. So will you be all right to deal with him in my absence?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good. Then we’ll talk lat
er.’

  Bidding the groom good day, Leonard strode off, his mind now filled with an idea which, once planted, would not go away.

  Inside the house, he fed the dog and while the elderly animal worked its way through a bowl of leftovers, Leonard came to a decision. ‘If I can’t go and find your mistress, I’ll get a private detective in to do the job for me,’ he told Chappie. ‘I need to know that she’s safe and well. If I can satisfy myself on that, at least I won’t have to worry quite so much, and I can keep an eye on her from a distance.’

  Vicky was the love of Leonard Maitland’s life. She meant more to him than anyone or anything. She might not approve of what he was doing, and he hoped she would never find out; but either way, he knew it was the right thing to do, for his peace of mind, and for Vicky’s own good.

  That same evening, Thomas and his wife Sheila dropped in. ‘You wanted to talk about that new combine-harvester,’ Thomas reminded Leonard. ‘Is now a good time?’

  As always, his stepfather was pleased to see him. ‘Couldn’t be better,’ he confirmed. ‘As you know, I’ve just acquired another eight hundred acres, so I’m thinking we should trade in the old machine against one of the larger John Deere models.’

  Thomas was pleased. ‘So you’ve come round to my way of thinking at last!’ he said triumphantly. ‘That’s good. You won’t regret it, Leonard.’

  ‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Leonard answered. ‘But if we’re now agreed on going ahead with it, I reckon we should do it now. We’ve a way to go before harvest, but it’ll be here before we know it, so we need to get the deal done before everybody else begins to think along the same lines of trading up to these new, larger combines.’

  ‘I’m all for getting the deal done,’ Thomas nodded. ‘And while we’re on the subject of machinery, we need to rent another grain-wagon, and hire a driver to work it.’

  ‘If that’s what we need, then go to it,’ Leonard told him. ‘Discuss it with the foreman first. But you’re right – we don’t want to be halfway through harvest and discover that all the good drivers have been snapped up.’