Midnight (31 page)

There was just one thing that Jack had kept hidden: the nightmares. Just as he thought it, Libby asked tentatively, ‘Do you still have those bad dreams, Jack? I hope it’s all right to mention them. I know they gave you a very hard time when you were growing up.’

Jack rubbed a hand over his face, aware that the dark circles beneath his eyes told their own tale.

‘To tell you the truth, I still have problems with them,’ he admitted in a low voice. ‘I got some treatment for them, and that was one of the reasons why I came back up north.’ He paused, his gaze resting on her face and his voice breaking with emotion. ‘I guess the other reason was you. You were never far from my thoughts, Libby.’

They talked a while longer. Finally Libby said, ‘Sorry, Jack, but I’m going to have to leave soon. Mum and Thomas will be back from Blackpool, in a while and I need to be here to help.

Jack was reluctant to let this special time end. ‘We could walk a little way up the riverside first, couldn’t we?’

Longing to stay, but anxious to leave, she glanced at her watch. ‘All right, yes . . . but in fifteen minutes I really have to go.’

Jack was grateful. ‘Thank you. I really hope we can do this again.’

Libby felt the same way. Being with Jack had made her feel like a real woman. But now she was also thinking of her mother. She wondered whether Eileen should know about this meeting. Or would it just make her worry that she could lose her daughter? Her mother needed her, and come what may, Libby would never, ever let her down.

Libby and Jack left the café and walked together along the towpath. At first they were a step apart, and then, as natural as breathing, he took hold of her hand. It felt wonderful to have his strong, warm fingers curled about hers.

‘I never forgot you,’ Jack said suddenly. ‘I never could. Please forgive me for going without even saying goodbye.’

He cupped her face in his hands and, drawing her to him, kissed her full and long on the mouth.

And then they were crying and laughing, and they were holding each other, and the years rolled away.

‘If I live to be a hundred,’ said Jack softly, ‘today will always be the most wonderful day of my whole life. You and me . . . here, together again. And the strange thing is, it’s as though we never parted.’

He made her a promise: ‘Fate has given us a chance and brought us back together, and I’ll do my best to keep it that way.’

Libby nestled into his embrace. ‘You’re really home, now, Jack – back where you belong.’

And Jack’s heart was content.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
HOMAS WAS WORRIED
about Eileen. Several times in the past half-hour, he had spoken to her and she had not heard him – or pretended not to have heard.

Despite her mood swings, today’s outing to Blackpool had been a pleasant experience. The sun had shone beautifully for once, allowing all the fam ilies on holiday to enjoy the sea and sand . . . and after a half-hour’s rummage, Eileen had bought a small present for Libby from the gift shop – a fridge magnet in the shape of a lobster with black, beady eyes. They’d watched a Punch and Judy show with a bunch of noisy kids, and they’d both joined in with all the necessary noises, egged on by the puppeteer. Eileen had even laughed out loud at one point, when the dog puppet ran off with a long string of cardboard sausages.

Now, having settled her on a towel on the big steps bordering the beach, Thomas thought she seemed at her happiest so far today, although a little distant in her mind.

‘Thank you, Thomas,’ she told him now, right out of the blue.

‘What for, m’dear?’

‘For everything. You’ve been the best friend anyone could ever have, and I love you. So does my Libby. You’ve been more of a father to her than Ian ever was. Please never forget that.’

Thomas felt deeply sad, about all the wasted years; about the shocking secret the two of them had been forced to keep. And look at the awful toll it had taken on them both . . .

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked Eileen, feeling more than a bit peckish himself. It had been a fair walk along the promenade. ‘We could wander up to the Tower and get ourselves a snack,’ he suggested.

‘No thanks, Thomas. My legs are tired,’ Eileen watched a young mum trying to drag a pushchair containing a baby over the sand, while at the same time keeping an eye on her other child. A boisterous little chap of about three, he was even now heading straight towards the water, lured by the waves splashing onto the sand.

‘Dylan, come back!’
the woman shouted, but the lad naughtily ignored her and ran on, splashing in the shallows. He was laughing and jumping up and down in the water to show his mum what he could do – and then suddenly, a bigger wave knocked him over.

‘Stay right here and don’t move,’ Thomas told Eileen. ‘I’ll go and get hold of that child.’

Eileen was aware of the danger. ‘Hurry up!’

Puffing and panting somewhat, Thomas reached the sea and scooped up the bawling child, who had dropped his bright-red bucket in the water. The waves were now carrying it away, as they would have carried him away, a few seconds later.

Hurrying down the beach, the young mum took the crying child from Thomas’ arms. ‘I told him to stay by me, but the little devil’s got a mind of his own,’ she complained. ‘He’s asking for a smack on the backside, he is. Just wait till his dad gets to hear about this!’

They walked up the beach, back to where the baby slept in the pushchair, ‘My husband’s driven over to Lytham today to see some new car place, and he’s dumped me at the beach with these two. You need eyes in the back of your head with young children.’ Putting the sopping-wet child down on the sand, she took a towel out of the pushchair and began to change him into his bathing trunks.

‘My name’s Marie, by the way,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you.’

Still out of breath, Thomas told her ‘It was a pleasure, Marie. I’m Thomas. Enjoy the rest of your day, now. And you too, Dylan.’ The youngster had got over his shock and was digging at the sand with a plastic rake.

Thomas then stumbled off back towards the steps, his shoes full of sand and his socks wet, his eyes on the lookout for obstacles, careful not to fall over.

When he reached the flat area near the steps, he looked up – and saw to his dismay that Eileen had vanished. His heart sank.

As Thomas had set off across the sand to rescue the young boy, Eileen had slipped into a world of her own.

It was midnight. A moon hung, huge and golden, in the sky. She had to find the child – and bring him away.

‘You shouldn’t be out here, my darling – it’s so dark and cold,’ she said, trying to stop his crying. ‘Come with me, come away into the warm. Don’t cry, my lovely.’

She remembered the weight of him in her arms, his tiny hands clinging to her as he sobbed pitifully.

The staring eyes followed them, accusing them . . .

Even now, while Thomas rescued that frightened child in the sea, the eyes were watching. Just as they had been when she too had rescued a child. The eyes were always watching, and her torment would never end. It was time to finish it.

Marie saw her first. Eileen was walking into the sea. She shouted out,
‘Hey, Thomas, it’s your wife – she’s in trouble!’

Pausing only to tug off his shoes, Thomas ran down the sand as fast as his old legs would take him. He knew what Eileen meant to do, but he couldn’t let her do it.

His frantic cry echoed across the beach:
‘Eileen! Stop!’

Other people ran to help, but they were too late. Eileen’s head had gone under the water.

With strength born of fear, Thomas launched himself into the sea and, spotting her dress floating on the surface, he swam out and grabbed her. Gasping and spluttering in the waves, he managed to hold her head above the water. Some bystanders helped them out of the water, and a young man immediately started on the emergency resuscitation procedure while someone else rang for an ambulance.

Shivering with shock, Thomas knelt on the sand, holding Eileen’s hand and praying as he had never prayed before. Weeping, he whispered:

‘Please, God, let her be all right. I know it’s a judgement on us, but I swear to You now that if You spare this dear woman, I’ll do what she’s always wanted – I’ll go to the police. Oh, Lord, please don’t take her from me.’

Then there was the sound of sirens, and he knew help was on its way.

Shivering and desperate, Thomas sat in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, holding Eileen’s hand. ‘Stay with me, sweetheart,’ he pleaded. ‘I need you to be with me. I’m nothing without you.’

He knew she had meant to end her life, and he knew why. Day after day, year after year, the strain of concealing the truth of that unforgettable night had been destroying her from within. The torment must have finally proved too much for her. When the waves lapped over her, he wondered, had she found a certain peace in letting go of the burden she carried?

He was the one who should have drowned. For he was the one who had persuaded Eileen to keep the secret. He was the weak one, while she was the stronger.

Eileen was right. They should have told; they should have been prepared to accept their punishment. And now, for her dear sake, it was time to confess.

Whatever the consequences.

Thomas felt an immense relief that, one way or another, it would soon be over. The truth would be out, and the world would have to judge them.

But first, he had to make a phone call to Libby.

Later that evening, while Eileen slept peacefully in her hospital bed, Libby remained by her side, while Thomas made his excuses and left the Victoria Hospital in Blackpool. He had told Libby, who planned to stay with Eileen all night, to take the car back to Blackburn with her mother the next day, as he had something important to do in Blackpool and would come home by public transport.

He thanked the heavens above that Libby had not blamed him for the accident, only blessed him for his quick thinking. Distracted though he was, Thomas had noticed the glow in Libby’s cheeks. When there was an opportunity, he hoped he would be able to hear how her meeting with Jack had gone.

Dressed in clean, dry clothes brought by Libby, and feeling fortified by the cup of tea and sandwich she had fetched for him earlier, he took a taxi to the Central Police Station in Bonny Street.

Walking in, Thomas told the Sergeant behind the desk: ‘I want to speak to someone in authority.’

‘Well, I’m in authority,’ the young man answered. ‘You can speak to me, sir. What’s the problem?’ He thought it might be a traffic matter, or badly behaved children, or a complaint about dog mess – they were the top three topics of grievance. Nothing could have prepared him for what Thomas had to say:

‘I am here to confess to a murder.’

The patronising smile fell from the Sergeant’s face. ‘A
murder
?’

‘That’s right. I need to see someone senior – someone who deals with serious crime. I need to tell them what I did. It’s time, d’yer see? It’s time to tell.’ He felt so tired. He wanted to get the confession off his chest.

The shocked young officer nodded. ‘I see. Please take a seat, sir, and I’ll find someone to look after you.’ He gestured at the bench against the wall. Thomas shuffled across the room and sat down.

The DCI appeared two minutes later and led Thomas down a corridor to an interview room, accompanied by a young WPC. Thomas put his shoulders back and held his head high. His story was waiting to be told. It was a story that would both shock and horrify.

Thomas told everything to DCI David Morgan. He told him how, on a late-December day nearly twenty years ago, he had committed murder. He could no longer live with the guilt, he said, and that was why he was here. As Thomas went on, Morgan began to realise that this was no deranged person off the street, wasting police time. This was a man bent with grief and regret, and his halting confession sounded tragically authentic.

Thomas continued to describe the harrowing events that had caused him to commit murder, until every single detail had been confessed. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to break down. As much as anything at that point, he felt a great sense of relief.

At long last, he had unburdened himself and Eileen of the terrible thing they had done. And now, there would be a devastating price to be paid.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
HE STORY OF
what had happened all those years ago in Bower Street quickly spread far and wide, to be greeted with shock and disbelief by everyone who knew Eileen and her kindly next-door neighbour, Thomas Farraday.

When the two murder victims had first disappeared, many local gossips had secretly believed that Ian Harrow had run away with Rose Farraday. However, Eileen and Thomas had quenched these rumours by telling any nosy-parkers that Rose had decided to stay in Sheffield with her mother and make a new life there, and that Ian Harrow had left Blackburn to take up a position in London, where he’d fallen in love with a secretary and settled down with her, deserting his wife and daughter. These things happened – marriage break-ups were common enough. And it was obvious how upset both Thomas and Eileen were. Everyone knew that Eileen in particular had never been the same afterwards.

Now that the shocking truth behind the disappearances was out, newspapers, radio and TV competed to describe the gory details of what had taken place on this quiet street. The discovery of the two skeletons beneath the birch tree in the Harrows’ garden was the most exciting news to have come out of Blackburn for a long, long time.

That Thomas Farraday – an ordinary and decent man, looked up to by many local people – could commit such a heinous crime, was beyond belief.

The finger was also pointed at Eileen Harrow – an equally inoffensive woman, but never a murderer? That was hard to believe.

Some said the pair should be put away for the rest of their lives. Others defended them. ‘They must have been driven to it,’ they claimed. ‘These are good, ordinary people, just like us.’