Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Leanne watched him turn into the drive and exit the car. He was with Imogen and her heart sank, her perfection intimidating. The delectable woman strode around the vehicle, gazed along the length of the house and said something to Luke. Luke responded, and they both chortled.

  Imogen was leggy, had full breasts, and a slim waist. She had beautiful fawn hair with delicate curls and was easy to talk with. She probably had a great boyfriend and large family too. Fighting her envy, Leanne headed to the rear outer door. Imogen must think her pathetic. It was unlikely that her grandmother would have ever lied to her.

  Nonetheless, forcing a broad smile and warm demeanour, she opened the door and welcomed them inside. Imogen’s expression was wide with envy, and she gawked at the spacious surroundings, a wall painting, and glass light fitting.

  ‘This place is fantastic, Leanne,’ she said.

  ‘It is rather.’

  ‘I just said to Luke that it was in fantastic condition,’ she winked at him, ‘he thought I was talking about the garden.’

  ‘I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I suppose I should consider hiring someone to clear the land.’

  She tottered along the hallway towards a room. ‘Do you mind if I have a look?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  She peered into a room, her jaw hanging

  ‘I must get rid of the flowery wallpaper,’ Leanne said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Retro is fashionable. You can do so much with this place. You must be very excited.’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘I might let it as a holiday home. I think it’s too big to live here permanently.’

  ‘Great idea. You could keep some of the weeks’ free for yourself.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  Imogen was still peering into the rooms, agog. She was beautiful, and Leanne loved her tight-fitting, off-white pants and matching jacket, and yearned for such a figure. Luke was staring at her too, although expressionless and not appearing to be mesmerised by her stunning appearance and gorgeous scent. Leanne held her arm across her stomach, wishing she had dressed with more care, and felt dowdy in comparison. She also hoped her tears had not streaked her face and that her self-inflicted stress had not greyed her pallor.

  After a few more minutes of showing them around, Leanne guided them into the kitchen. Luke and Imogen made such an unlikely couple that she wondered if their different approaches to their appearances caused friction in their working relationship. Whilst Luke was smart, he lacked something to give him the edge and almost appeared scruffy in his suit. She decided he might look better in casual clothes. Nonetheless, Leanne approved. He came across as down-to-earth and genuine, an asset to aid relaxation.

  ‘We’ve just been to see a farmer. Ted Moore,’ Luke said.

  ‘I spoke to him when I first came. He said he knew my mother.’

  ‘He did. In fact, he told us quite a bit.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He leaned down to the floor and retrieved a clipboard from his brown leather bag. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if what I tell you is a bit disjointed. We’ll be writing up a report when we get back.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He flicked back the sheets of paper to a sheet entitled Ted Moore. It was full of scrawl and virtually indecipherable, and her excitement grew.

  ‘Everything he said referred to Janet’s early life. It gives us a good background to their relationship.’

  ‘How did he know her?’

  ‘His parents were friends of the family.’ he glimpsed at Imogen. ‘From what we can gather, his mother was close to Janet. She died a few years ago.’

  Leanne nodded encouragingly.

  ‘Ted claims everything he said is accurate. As yet, we have no reason to disbelieve him.’

  ‘How did he come across?’ she asked.

  ‘I think he can be trusted. He was a bit cagey . . . didn’t want to spread gossip, but he seemed genuine. I couldn’t detect anything to imply he liked to spin a yarn.’

  ‘So tell me, what did he say?’

  He started to talk.

  Chapter 19

  1954

  A multitude of coloured balloons was scattered across the floor, birthday banners hung from the ceiling, and glitzy strands of shaped paper bordered the wall paintings and standard lamp. It was Fiona’s first birthday, a celebration she was unlikely to appreciate, yet it remained a necessity in Janet’s mind. She hoped, in the least, that Fiona would appreciate or recognise the attention and love bestowed upon her.

  Janet headed through the hallway and into the kitchen, and assisted Ann with the food preparations, quartering the sandwiches and placing the small bite-sized cakes onto plates. Then she checked the small pastries in the oven, and concluding that the colour was a delicious golden brown removed them and placed them onto cooling trays. The aroma was sensational and she longed for a bite, and slipped back through time to a day when she had assisted her mother with such preparations.

  She would have been about seven or eight years old, and loved the sensation of flour and butter on her hands, and often offered to take on the task of mixing. Her nails filled with the sticky substance and her skin turned flaky and rough as though she had acquired a horrendous disease. Then, before she washed, she chased Patrick, her younger brother, with her hands outstretched. His feet pounded the floor, excited screams escaped his lips, and they collapsed in a heap on the sofa or rug. She mauled his small body, and bits of the pastry mix dropped onto the furniture. Her mother never seemed to mind, never worried about the rotting pieces of dough that lay undisturbed under the cushions for months.

  Their low standards continued to bewilder Janet; the sight of mess, dirt, and the smell of smoke and damp often bringing about a surge of childhood memories and a gut-wrenching sickness to form in the pit of her stomach. More often than not, she relived the resentment experienced upon her first visit to London, along with her father’s constant reprimands. Why had they despised her choice of life? All she had done was better herself by acquiring additional knowledge, values and experience. She was still the same person, still cared for them as deeply.

  Her mind drifted to the end of the war. After her visit to the then vacated family home, Janet had shed endless tears, crying herself to sleep and yearning a reunion with her parents and siblings. Repeatedly she had told herself the evacuation had not been of her choosing, likewise with the issues that followed. They were at fault for ignoring her letters and ultimately her. Her parents had hated her for reasons unknown, an unforgiveable act.

  Karen trotted into the kitchen, her light patter of footsteps pulling Janet from her ponderings, and the gentle tug of her skirt drawing her eyes.

  ‘Can I play outside Mummy?’

  ‘Not today darling.’

  ‘Please,’ she said in a drawl.

  ‘I said no. I don’t want you getting dirty.’

  ‘But it’s not fair.’

  ‘It’s your sister’s birthday. It’s very fair.’

  ‘She doesn’t care. She’s asleep.’

  ‘She will be awake soon enough.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I stay clean,’ Karen said, wide-eyed.

  ‘I said no.’

  Karen stomped to Ann, who was resting on a chair at the table. ‘Please Auntie Ann, tell her I’ll be good.’

  ‘It’s up to your mother.’

  ‘It’s not fair!’ Karen squealed, her posture blocky. ‘I hate her! I hate her, I hate her!’

  She stormed towards the kitchen door, slamming it into its frame, and causing reverberations to pass along the walls and floor. Janet peered at Ann, expressing a mystifying concern.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with her,’ Janet said, ‘whenever I give Fiona attention she creates havoc.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. A bit of jealousy is normal. She’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Do I treat them differentl
y?’

  ‘You treat them according to their needs. Fiona is still a baby. She is bound to need more attention.’

  Janet leaned against the kitchen unit. ‘But I could have let her play out. It’s still a couple of hours before anyone arrives, and she will be changing her clothes before then.’

  Ann blew out. ‘She’s probably already doing something else . . . forgotten all about it.’

  Janet busied herself by tidying the worktop, but her mind continued to tumble. She wanted to ask her mother if she had ever been jealous of her younger brother, but that link had been severed. She couldn’t ask Ann, since she hadn’t had children of her own, and it caused her to experience a sense of isolation.

  An image of her mother appeared in her mind, yet the details were hazy and she appeared in a ghost-like fashion, unable to remember the shape of her nose, her jaw line, her lips, and her eyes. It was wrong; a major part of Janet’s entire life had been taken, removed without consideration, ripped away from her, severed without anaesthetic.

  Janet turned to Ann. ‘I wish I knew why my family deserted me.’

  The older woman averted her eyes, gazing at a newspaper resting on the table. ‘They must have had their reasons.’

  ‘But what? What did I do to deserve that?’

  The chair grated on the floor as Ann stood up and then hurried to the sink. ‘You haven’t missed out. You’ve had a good life.’

  ‘But I still would like to know why they went. For years, I would check the post hoping for a new address.’

  Ann stared into the sink as it filled with gushing water. She seemed flustered, her skin was a blotchy red and moisture crept from her pores.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she said.

  She thrust a few dirty items into the sink. ‘The water’s making me hot. It’s stuffy in here. Go open the door.’

  She did as instructed and listened to the sound of stomping feet and screeching exclamations. She peered up the staircase and focused on the sound.

  ‘Karen!’ she called.

  The sounds continued. Janet hurried to the first floor and into a bedroom and saw Karen marking Fiona’s possessions with a black pen. Her face was beetroot red and scrunched, and her body taut.

  ‘You naughty girl!’ Janet grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her away from the ruined blanket, clothes and dolls.

  Karen’s body became weighted; she dragged her heels and let loose a bellowing scream.

  ‘Stop it!’ Janet slapped her legs. ‘Stop it I said.’

  She screamed again, louder and more forcefully, and thrashed out with her arms, pummelling Janet’s legs.

  ‘Naughty girl!’

  In one swift action, Janet picked up the girl, forced still her thrashing body, and waited for her anger to dissipate. She could feel the heat radiate from her, the burning anger evaporating into the air.

  ‘I hate you! I hate you!’ Karen yelled.

  Ignoring the emotional onslaught, Janet carried her daughter downstairs and forced her to sit on the bottom step. Moments later, having gained an element of control, she returned to the kitchen feeling emotionally drained and slumped onto the chair.

  Today was a day of celebration, so why did she feel so unlike being joyous? Yet Janet already knew the answer. Her life without her mother, brothers and sister was wearing her down. She wanted them back with her and with great sadness reflected on the moment that she discovered they had left their London house.

  The guests had vacated the house, the children were in bed, and Gerry and Ann were in the next room, leaving Janet alone with her husband. She edged closer to him, pressing herself into his slender frame, and gained comfort and strength from his presence. Her earlier moments of disillusionment now lacked significance; she lived in a beautiful house with caring and wonderful people, and had a fantastic husband and two beautiful daughters.

  Janet turned her head and pressed her lips to Roy’s cheek. He smiled, his washed out complexion and tired eyes secreting his love.

  ‘You look done in,’ she said.

  ‘I am. It’s back-breaking work out on the fields.’

  ‘Why don’t you do something less demanding?’

  ‘Like what? We’d have to move to the city and it’s not what you want.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t like seeing you like this.’

  Roy pulled away and leaned towards the table to pour out another drink. ‘So what are you saying? I should find an office job in the country.’

  Clamping shut her mouth, she watched him gulp down the liquid before pouring a second. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

  He glared. ‘Don’t start.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Your problem is,’ he continued, ‘you think having a labourer as a husband is beneath you.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘And if I have an occasional drink I’m turning into an alcoholic.’

  ‘Is it any wonder I feel that way after what that horrid man did?’

  ‘You still haven’t got over your first guardian?’

  She rose to her feet. ‘I saw what it did to him . . . and to me.’

  ‘I’m not going to start beating you or the girls.’

  ‘You’d be straight out if you did.’

  She stared into the fireplace. Those few months had changed her forever. Never before had she questioned her father’s drinking or loud behaviour. It was just what men did, their way of relaxing at the end of the day. However, having experienced Uncle Tom’s extreme reaction and then felt the tender hands of Gerry, her opinion changed. Gerry was kind and warm-hearted and rarely drank more than one glass of alcohol in one sitting. She had always felt safe in his presence, never needed to fear any unjustified explosions.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t like excessive drinking,’ she said.

  ‘That’s clear.’ He gulped down the liquid, rested the glass on his thigh, and stared into a space across the room. ‘I need it to relax.’

  ‘Can’t you get more workers?’

  ‘Gerry says we can’t afford it.’

  ‘He’s had others in the past. I wouldn’t have thought it a problem.’

  ‘I agree.’ He caught her eye and hesitated. ‘He turned a man away today. It was a bit strange. I thought I heard your name mentioned, but when I asked Gerry about it, he said I was mistaken.’

  ‘Why would anyone be talking about me?’

  ‘It could have been someone you went to school with. He looked about your age.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . normal looking. His name was Patrick.’

  Patrick? Her brother? Could it be?

  She bolted to her feet, out of the room, and into the next room to Gerry and Ann. ‘Was my brother looking for me today?’

  Panic flashed onto their faces.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘We were going to,’ Ann said, her voice little more than a squeak.

  She slipped her fingers through her hair. ‘You sent him away. I can’t believe you’d do that.’

  ‘We didn’t send him away . . . not exactly. He-’

  ‘But he’s my brother!’

  ‘He never said he was your brother. It could have been anyone.’

  ‘But he was asking after me.’

  ‘He was also after a job,’ Gerry said.

  ‘Is he staying in the village?’

  ‘Seems so.’

  ‘I have to go see him. Where’s he living?’

  Gerry strode to a small chest near the window and removed a small piece of paper from within. He held it in his hand, refusing to let go. Janet pleaded with her eyes.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘He’s my brother. I have to see him.’

  ‘You’ve not thought this through. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been too long.’

  He appeared as though he wasn’t going to relent and it triggered her panic. Pleading for support and unders
tanding, she looked between them, noticing their doubt and anxiety. After what seemed like an eternity, Gerry relented and passed her the paper. With her heart pounding in her throat and her hands shaking, she absorbed the details.

  ‘It appears he is not alone,’ he said.

  She lifted her gaze and fought her quivering limbs.

  ‘He mentioned his father.’

  Chapter 20

  1954

  Janet’s heart was pounding so hard she thought she might explode as she walked along the village centre street, counting the houses up ahead to determine which was number twenty-two. All thoughts were incoherent, crisscrossing her brain like snakes in a pit.

  There were days in the air-raid shelters. There were family meals around candlelight. There were experiences shared with her sister and brothers. Then there was the evacuation and the introduction to her new family. There was the sting of the whip, the comforting touch of Auntie Ann, the soothing tones of Uncle Gerry. Next, she was twelve-years-old returning to London full of countryside tales, and for the first time whilst within the company of her family experienced an intense feeling of not belonging. Character differences had emerged. There were mismatched principles, arguments, and tears.

  Her jumbled thoughts did not stop there. She wanted to share every moment of the intervening years, from her education to her personal life, her marriage to Roy and the birth of her daughters. There was much to tell, hours, days and weeks of catching up.

  What would they look like? Patrick was not likely to be recognisable, and was still a boy in her mind, although her parents should look similar. He would be scrawny and with a complexion that told of his hardship, and she would have a grey podgy skin tone and jutting chin and she would still carry a solemn demeanour.

  Her steps slowed as the house came into view, her breaths shorter and faster and her excitement wild and vivid. She would forgive them for leaving and enjoy the moment. She would look forward to a future of opportunities.

  She rapped on the door and held her breath. A faint sound of voices came from within. The door opened. A pregnant woman a few years her junior stood before her.