The Broken Man

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2013

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2013

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007419913

Ebook Edition © October 2013 ISBN: 9780007419906

Version: 2017-05-22

Dedication

To my darling Ken, as always.

To the musical Murphy family in Ireland. Hope all is well with you. Much love, Jo x

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Part Two

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part Three

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part Four

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Part Five

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Part Six

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by Josephine Cox

About the Publisher

PART ONE

Bedfordshire, February

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS SOMETHING disturbing about young Adam.

Deep inside, he carried a secret that he could never tell anyone.

Phil knew, though, because he recognised that certain look: the slump of the shoulders; the sad eyes that gave little away.

Having fought for king and country, Phil knew what it was like to carry a secret. Over the years he had learned to live with the vivid memory of terrible scenes he had witnessed.

He could banter with old companions, but the loneliness of guarding his secret was often unbearable.

Though his life was not empty, he ached for the company of a very special person, the one lovely woman he had loved with every fibre of his being. The only woman who was able to bring sunshine into his life, even on a rainy day.

He kept himself busy helping his neighbours and occasionally meeting up with locals down at the pub. He earned his living by driving the school bus, and when the working day was over, he would go home to an empty house, make his tea and, afterwards, sit in his chair and light up his faithful old pipe. Before it got dark, he would take a leisurely stroll through the countryside, his little mongrel dog, Rex, tripping along beside him.

Phil appreciated his few simple pleasures, though he would have given everything to turn the clock back to a time when he was younger and fitter, and fortunate enough to have a loving wife.

Now, though, he would make his way home as always, and except for the faithful little dog who was never far from his side, the house would be empty.

Now at night, he went up to his bed; alone. At first light he woke up; alone. He had no one special to laugh or cry with, no one to slide his arm around when he felt loving. And there was no one close with whom to share any titbits of gossip or maybe a smile at the occasional naughty tricks the schoolchildren got up to on the bus.

There was no one to chastise him when he left the tap running, or when he casually threw his worn shirt on the bedroom floor. It was a hard truth that after many happy years married to a wonderful woman, he was now a man on his own, with only memories and his dog for company.

The loneliness weighed heaviest on him in the evenings. He longed for things once familiar, like making a pot of tea for two, and sharing it over a cheery fire, or maybe cutting fresh flowers from his little garden, and seeing his wife’s pretty smile as he handed them to her.

Those precious times had been dearly missed these past four years, since his beloved wife lost her fight against a long illness.

Phil’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a flicker of movement reflected in the driver’s mirror. Glancing up, he saw his last passenger, young Adam Carter, climbing out of his seat to make his way down the bus. He was far too quiet and serious for his age. There were times when Phil had caught the boy so deep in thought he was oblivious to the other children around him and he had no particular friend with whom he always sat. In Adam, Phil saw a troubled, frightened boy.

‘We’re nearly there, son!’ he called encouragingly.

Phil manoeuvred the vehicle over to the verge, where he parked, applied the handbrake, and prepared to let the boy off.

‘Right then, Adam, here you are, home safe and well.’

‘Thank you, Mr Wallis, I’ll be all right now.’

‘The name’s Phil …’ he kindly corrected the child. ‘Everyone calls me Phil.’

‘But my father says it’s rude to address your elders by their first name.’

‘Mebbe, but not if they offer you the privilege … which I am very glad to be doing right now. Only if you feel comfortable with it, mind.’

Adam grew restless. ‘I’d really like to call you Phil,’ he admitted, ‘but my father would be angry with me.’

Phil gave a cheeky wink. ‘Well, that’s easily settled. I won’t tell him if you don’t.’

Adam gave it a little thought, then with a wide smile said, ‘OK. I won’t tell him either.’

‘Good! That’s settled then.’ Phil climbed out of the driving seat. ‘Seeing as I need to stretch my legs and it’s such a beautiful afternoon, I’ll walk you down the lane to your front door. That’s if you think your father wouldn’t mind.’

Adam shook his head. ‘He won’t mind. Thank you, Phil.’

Phil laughed out loud. ‘There you are. It wasn’t too difficult to say my name, was it?’

He felt as though, at long last, this lonely boy was beginning to trust him. He hoped the day might come when the child would trust him enough to confide in him.

He now took a sideways glance at young Adam.

At seven years of age, Adam Carter was quietly spoken. With serious brown eyes, and thick dark hair that tumbled over his forehead, he cut a handsome young figure. Not naturally outgoing, he hardly ever laughed out loud, and smiled only on rare occasions. Yet when he did smile it was such a warm, genuine smile, it could light up a room.

Phil had noticed how Adam’s nervousness increased the nearer he got to home. Unlike the other children, who could never get off the bus fast enough, Adam hung back, waiting until the very last minute, almost as though he was reluctant to leave the safety of the bus.

‘Right then, son, that’s another week over. You go on; I need to secure the bus, especially after that young squirrel got inside and wreaked havoc.’

Adam went down the steps. On the last step he gave a short jump to the ground, his satchel catching on the handrail as he did so.

‘All right, are you?’ Phil released his satchel.

‘Yes, thank you, Phil.’

After following Adam down the bus steps, Phil secured the door behind him.

‘I expect you’re glad to be home, eh?’

Except for a curt nod of the head, Adam gave no reply, but he wanted to tell this gentle, kind man that no, he was not all right; that he was not glad to be home. He wanted to confess that he was afraid and unhappy, and that he often dreamed of running away. But he would never do that, because it might be dangerous for someone he loved dearly. So he kept his silence and went on pretending. Even now, as they approached the house, his heart was thumping. Was his father home yet? Had his day been good? Because if not … oh … if not … Quickly, he thrust the bad thoughts from his mind.

Man and boy went down the lane side by side.

‘By! This is a real treat.’ Phil sniffed the air. ‘This time o’ day, the pine trees give off a wonderful scent.’

Adam agreed. ‘Mum says it’s even stronger in the summer. She says when the trees begin to sweat, they create a thick vapour over the woods, and you can almost taste it.’

Phil loved the lazy manner in which the worn path wound in and out of the ancient woodlands, skirting magnificent trees that had been there far longer than he had.

‘You live in a really pretty part of the countryside,’ he told Adam. ‘And now you’ve got the whole weekend before you, so what might you be up to, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘By! I wish I were a lad again … climbing trees and apple-scrumping. The things we used to get up to, you would not believe.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘It’s all a lifetime ago now. Mind you, I’d never be able to climb a tree these days, not with my gammy leg.’ His pronounced limp was a painful trophy from the war.

‘I’m not allowed to climb trees.’ Adam’s voice softened with regret. ‘My father doesn’t approve of it.’

‘Well, I never!’ Phil was dumbfounded. ‘Climbing trees is what boys do. It’s a natural part of growing up, like fishing, and football.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘And who could ever forget the first time he kissed a girl?’ He rolled his eyes and made the boy smile shyly; he still had that pleasure to come.

‘I know it’s not my place to ask,’ Phil went on in a more serious tone, ‘but, what’s your dad got against you climbing trees?’

Adam shrugged. ‘He says it’s undignified.’

‘I see.’ In fact, he didn’t see at all.

Deep in conversation, they were startled and delighted when a deer shot across their path. A few steps on, and Phil resumed their conversation.

‘Do you know what I’d do, if ever I had loads of money?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t expect I ever will have loads of money, but if I did, I’d build myself the prettiest little cottage right in the middle of these ’ere woods. And I’d be sure to make friends with every animal that lived here.’

Adam laughed. ‘You’d be like the old man in the story.’

‘Oh, and what story is that?’

‘It’s a mystery I once read, about a man who lived in an old shed in the woods. He cut his own logs for the fire, and everything he ate came out of the woods. Sometimes he would even sleep in the forest with the animals, and they never once hurt him.’

‘Ah, well, there you go, then. He sounds like a man after my own heart. So, how long did he live like that?’

‘A long time … years! Then one day he just disappeared, and was never seen again.’

‘Hmmph!’ Stooping to collect a fallen branch, Phil threw it into the verge. ‘So nobody knows what happened to him, eh?’

‘No. The story tells how one day he was seen collecting mushrooms; then he was never seen again. Some of the villagers were worried he might be ill, so they went to check the shed where he lived, but though the old man was gone, all his belongings were still there.’

‘Sounds too spooky for me.’ Phil was intrigued. ‘But what do you think happened to him?’

‘Well … I think maybe he got really sick and he knew he wouldn’t get better, so he crept away where no one would ever find him. Just like the Indians of old used to do.’

Phil thought about that. ‘Well, if that’s the case, he’s a very lucky man. Not many people get to choose how they live their lives, and then decide where to end them.’

There followed a short silence as they each dwelled on the fate of the mystery man.

‘Phil?’ The boy softly broke the silence.

‘Yes, son?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to choose what I want to do with my life.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because my father has my future all planned out.’

‘Has he now?’ Phil prompted him. ‘And you think that’s a bad thing, do you?’

‘He says I’m his only son and that he’s decided there will be no more children,’ Adam explained. ‘So it’s my duty to follow in his footsteps.’

‘No more children, eh?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘And are you sure you don’t want to follow in his footsteps?’

‘Yes, I’m sure, but when I try and tell him, he gets really angry.’

He was careful not to reveal how his father often took a belt to him; that one time he split the skin on his back and forbade his mother to take him to hospital.

‘Have you spoken to your mother about not wanting to follow in your dad’s footsteps?’

‘Yes, but Mum said it’s best if I do what Father says.’ He paused before confiding in a quieter voice, ‘Sometimes if I disobey him, he takes it out on her. That’s cowardly, isn’t it, Phil?’

‘I’m sorry, son, but without knowing all the circumstances, it would not be right for me to comment on that,’ Phil apologised, although his mental picture of the boy’s father was now deeply unsettling.

Thinking it might be wise to change the subject, he asked, ‘So if you’re not allowed to climb trees, what do you do when you’re out with your mates?’

‘I don’t have any mates.’

‘Oh? And why’s that then?’

‘Father says I must not waste my time. He says that if I’ve got any spare time after school, I must use it for doing extra studies, because I’ll never make anything of myself if I don’t study.’

He cast his gaze to the floor. ‘Can I tell you something, Phil?’

‘Course you can, son.’

‘I don’t like him very much. He makes me study all the time, and I’m never allowed to do anything else. I would like to have close mates that I could bring home and play with. But Father keeps me too busy for that.’

‘I’m sure your father thinks it’s all for your own good.’

‘I know, but he asks too much of me, and he has such a terrible temper, and if I get the questions wrong, he makes me do them all over again. Sometimes it’s midnight and he still won’t let me go. Mum argues with him and then … he … he …’ his voice tailed off to a whisper. ‘Sometimes, I really hate him.’

Saddened by what Adam had told him, Phil made him a promise. ‘Always remember, son, if ever you feel the need to talk, I’ll be here for you.’ Not being witness to what happened in that house, Phil believed it was wrong of him to criticise. Instead, he quietly reassured the boy, ‘I expect he has your interests at heart, but you obviously believe he’s going about it the wrong way, so all you can do is to keep explaining how you feel.’

‘I’ve made up my mind, I don’t ever want to be like him!’ A dark look crossed his face.

‘Well, I’m sure that’s your choice, Adam, but your father has made a success of his own life and, from what you tell me, it seems he wants the same for you.’

‘I know that.’ Looking ahead towards the house, the boy grew agitated. ‘But he’s not a good man. Sometimes he’s really nasty. He doesn’t laugh, and when he gets angry he shouts and screams. Mum tells me not to rile him, or he might …’

‘Might what?’ Phil could see the child was getting agitated. ‘Apart from the shouting and wanting you to work harder, is there something else that’s worrying you, son?’

‘NO! No, there’s nothing else.’ Fearing he might have said too much already, Adam finished lamely, ‘Me and Mum, we just do what he tells us, and then everything is fine.’

‘Well, just remember what I said, Adam. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.’ Phil brought the subject to an end: ‘I’ve an idea that you and your father will work it out, eventually.’ Even so, he was genuinely concerned by what the boy had told him.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Adam said after a few moments’ silence.

‘Of course you can!’ Chuckling, Phil lightened the mood. ‘Unless you’re after borrowing a shilling or two, because you know what they say: “Never a borrower nor a lender be”, and that’s the rule I live by.’

When he saw Adam’s face fall, he laughed out loud. ‘Take no notice of me,’ he said, ‘I’m just teasing. So, what is it you want to ask?’

Casting a wary glance along the lane, Adam quietly confided, ‘Could you please not tell anybody what I’ve said, about my father?’ Again, he nervously glanced down the lane towards his house.

‘Don’t worry, son. I’ve never been a gossip, and I can assure you that what’s been said here today will not go any further. All right?’

‘Thank you, Phil. Maybe you’re right. My father doesn’t mean to be like he is. It’s only because he works such long hours and he has such a responsible job, he just gets on edge sometimes.’

‘I understand that, son, but if you don’t mind me saying, what suits one man doesn’t always suit another. A man should be able to choose his own path. But you’re not yet a man, and maybe your father is looking out for your future. D’you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to be bad-tempered and angry like my father. I want to do something that makes me happy.’ Growing increasingly nervous, Adam dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Already my father is training me into his kind of work.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Well, nearly every night he brings home a pile of paperwork and makes me go through it with him. It’s all calculations of stocks and shares and money transactions. I don’t understand any of it, not really, but sometimes he keeps me at his desk for ages, making me do tests and stuff. He says he’s proud for me to follow in his footsteps. He wants me to learn all about high finance and dealing and stuff. And I hate it!’

Phil understood the boy’s concern. ‘Do you ever get any time to yourself?’

Adam’s face lit up. ‘Only when Father comes home really late, or stays in London overnight on business. That’s when Mum and I have the best time of all, doing the things Father disapproves of. We play card games. Mum keeps the cards in a special hiding place. And sometimes we play loud music on the radio and Mum shows me how to tango and rumba and all that.’

His face broke into a proud smile. ‘She was a champion ballroom dancer once. She won all sorts of trophies and she’s got photographs of her in these beautiful gowns. She said Father asked her to give it all up when they got married, so she gave her dresses away and never danced again. She kept all her photographs and trophies, but Father locked them away. She knows where the key is, though, and when he’s not here, she gets them all out.’

Growing afraid in case anyone was listening, he lowered his voice again. ‘He doesn’t know that Mum searched everywhere for the key. She found it under the carpet in their bedroom. When he’s not here, she sets all her trophies out on the sideboard, and then she teaches me to dance. Oh, Phil, she looks so beautiful. It’s not fair. Why would Father lock away all her precious things like that?’

Phil was shocked. ‘I’m sure I have no idea, son.’

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Phil led the conversation in a slightly different direction: ‘So, would your mum ever want to dance in public again, do you think?’

Adam nodded. ‘Oh, yes! She says she’s still young enough to take it up again. She even mentioned it to Father, but he said if she ever spoke of it again he would have to destroy everything, so she couldn’t ever be tempted. I don’t think she will ever dance again, though.’ Glancing up at Phil, he smiled. ‘Not in public, anyway.’

Phil was beginning to see a much wider picture of this family, and it was not good. ‘Mmm, well, all I can say is, it’s a pity your father has to work such long hours. But it’s good that you and your mum get to spend that time together, isn’t it?’

Adam nodded. ‘It’s really nice when Father isn’t there. Sometimes, me and Mum go across the fields for miles and miles. We stay out for ages. Then on the way back, we get fish and chips, and sit on a park bench to eat them. That way we don’t make the house smell, because then Father would know what we’ve been up to.’ Breathless and excited, he went on, ‘Oh, and sometimes we go to the pictures.’ His face lit up. ‘Last Saturday we went to see a cowboy film.’

Allowing the boy to chatter on excitedly, Phil instinctively eased him round a muddy puddle.

‘Do you have a pet? A little dog, mebbe?’

‘No. One time, Mum bought me a tabby cat, but it got run over. His name was Thomas and I really loved him. I taught him to do little tricks and he followed me everywhere, though Father would chase him out if he went into the house.’

Phil chuckled. ‘I had a cat like that once. Up to everything, he was.’

‘Thomas was the cleverest cat I ever knew,’ Adam confided proudly. ‘I cried a lot when he was run over. Father said I was a big baby and I should be ashamed of myself. And now I’m not allowed to have a pet ever again.’

‘He got run over, you say?’ That surprised Phil because, in his experience, most cats would head for the woods rather than risk going over a main road. ‘That’s a real shame. How did you find out?’

‘Father told us that he found Thomas in the woods, and that he was hurt so bad that he died, so he buried him where he found him. I wanted to go and say goodbye, but Father wouldn’t tell me where he was. He said that way I would get over him much quicker.’

‘Oh dear, that’s really sad. I’m so sorry.’ Having learned a good deal about Adam’s bullying father, Phil could not help but wonder about the cat’s demise.

He had an idea. ‘Look, Adam, being as it’s such a lovely afternoon, I’ll be taking my little dog for a walk through these lanes before it gets dark. You could ask your parents if you can tag along. What d’you say to that, eh?’

Adam shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed.’

‘Oh, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, does it? You never know. My old dad used to say, “If you don’t ask, you don’t get.”’

Adam shook his head. ‘Father won’t let me, but thank you anyway, Phil.’

‘Ah, well, never mind, eh? Mebbe another time.’

‘Yes, I would really like that.’

A few moments later they arrived at the house: a fine Victorian dwelling with tall chimneys, large windows and a sweeping drive. Set in beautifully landscaped grounds, it made an impressive sight. ‘I’ll be fine now, Phil, thank you.’

‘All right, son. I’ll just watch you go inside the gate, then I’ll make my way home.’ Reassured by the lit forecourt and drive, he waited for the boy to close the gate behind him.

‘Oh, look! Father’s home.’ Adam pointed to the big Austin saloon parked in the garage entrance. His face fell visibly as he prepared to go in.

In that same moment a man who had to be Adam’s father burst from the house. Lingering a moment in the shade of the porch, he appeared surprised to see the two of them at the gate.

‘Afternoon, Mr Carter.’ Phil raised his hand in greeting, but the other man gave no response as he scurried to his car.

Leaning closer, Adam confided in a whisper, ‘I’m glad he’s going out, because now I’ll be able to spend time with Mum, instead of being made to work in the office with Father.’

Phil understood, but thought it best not to stir up trouble. In his experience family problems usually sorted themselves out. ‘Right, well, I reckon I’d best be on my way.’

‘’Bye, then, and thank you.’ Adam went towards the house, while Phil turned and trudged back down the lane, deep in thought.

He had gone only a short distance when he heard angry yelling.

‘You’ll do as I say, or you’ll feel the length of my belt! Get out of my way, damn you!’

A minute later, Phil heard the sound of a car door being slammed, then the revving of an engine.

Phil thought if that was the father shouting, it was no wonder the boy had little love or respect for him.

Deep in thought, he pushed on down the lane. Suddenly a car skidded past him at break-neck speed, the wheels sending a thick spray of mud all over Phil’s trouser-leg. ‘BLOODY LUNATIC! TRYING TO KILL ME, ARE YOU?’ Shaking his fist as the car bounced out of the lane and onto the main road, he recognised the big Austin belonging to Adam’s father. ‘Bloody madman!’ Phil yelled, brushing the mud from his trousers as he grumbled. ‘You want locking up. You’ve not heard the last of this, I can tell you.’

About to continue on his way, he thought he heard a cry from somewhere behind him. Then he heard it again; this time closer. It was Adam. Running towards Phil, the boy was clearly distressed, ‘Phil … help me!’

When he fell over, he made no attempt to scramble up. Instead, he remained where he fell, calling out, ‘Come back! I need you, Phil … please.’

Slipping and stumbling on the uneven ground, Phil hurried back to him. By then, Adam was crumpled on the ground, frantically rocking back and forth, his two arms crossed over his head as though defending himself.

Shocked, Phil lifted him from the ground and held him close. ‘What is it, son? What’s happened?’ It was clear that something terrible must have happened.

‘We need you … please, Phil.’ Trembling in the man’s arms, the boy glanced about furtively, his eyes big with fear as he looked back towards the house. ‘Phil, you have to come and see.’ He lowered his voice to a confiding whisper. ‘It was him, I know it was. It was him, Phil. I hate him, I hate him!’

‘Ssh … take a deep breath, son. Tell me what’s happened.’

‘I don’t know! You have to help me, Phil … please!’

‘All right, son. Take it easy now. You and me, we’ll go back together.’ He knew it must be something bad to have affected the boy like this, but now was not the time for questions.

As they hurried back to the house, Adam kept asking over and over, ‘He won’t come back, will he? I don’t want him to come back. Please, Phil, don’t let him come back.’

Quickening his steps as best he could, Phil drew him close, constantly reassuring him, though he had no idea of what might have happened.

In the deepening hours of a February afternoon, he took quiet stock of the boy. At first he suspected his father had given him a beating, but the boy appeared to carry no visible cuts or bloodstains. He was thankful for that much, at least.

As they neared the house, Phil tightened his hold on Adam, while continuing to reassure him.

Clinging to Phil, young Adam seemed not to be listening. Instead, he shivered uncontrollably, while constantly glancing back to the main road.

At the gate, Adam drew back, his whole body resisting as Phil tried to move him gently forward.

Then in a sudden burst that took Phil by surprise, he broke away to run up the drive.

Phil quickly followed, then at the porch he hesitated. It went against his principles to enter another man’s property without invitation, especially when that man was hostile. His concerns about the boy, however, urged him on.

A moment or so later, on entering the inner hallway, Phil was faced with a scene so shocking, he could never in a million years have prepared himself for it.

Adam was at the foot of the stairs screaming, ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ his school shirt covered in blood. He ran back to Phil. ‘Look what he’s done, oh, Phil … look what he’s done.’ The boy’s cries were heart-wrenching.

Deeply shaken, Phil crossed to the foot of the stairs and kneeled to examine the woman. He recognised her as Peggy Carter, Adam’s mother, and like the boy, he believed she was past all earthly help.

Lying in a pool of blood, she was covered in angry red bruises. Her eyes were closed and there seemed no immediate signs of life. Her body was grotesquely twisted, with both legs buckled. Her two arms looked as though they were wrenched out of their sockets. The right arm was loosely stretched out, while the other hung through the gap in the banister as though she had tried to use the banister railings to break her fall. Phil was of the opinion that she lost her footing as she tumbled down the stairs and had made a brave but unsuccessful attempt to save herself from serious injury.

‘Adam! Phone for an ambulance.’ There was no time to waste. ‘Go on, son! Hurry!’ He reminded him of the emergency number. ‘Tell them there’s been a terrible accident, and that your mother is unconscious. Tell them they must come at once!’

As the boy ran to do as he was bid, Phil called after him, ‘Don’t forget to give them the address. Hurry, Adam! Hurry!’