name was Jack, and he was my best friend.’
Thomas scowled. ‘From what I remember, Jack’s mother was a real flighty sort – go with any tom-cat that howled, she would!’ He added softly, ‘Shame about what happened to her husband. Gordon was a nice enough bloke – struck down with a heart-attack two days after that big fire he got caught up in, and him only forty-two. It just goes to show – we never know what’s round the corner, do we, eh?’
There was a moment of quiet, before Eileen spoke again, and what she had to say came as a surprise to both Thomas and Libby. ‘Claire Redmond was a bad woman.’ She wagged a finger at Thomas. ‘She threw herself at my Ian!’
Nervously rolling her teacup in her hands, she leaned forward. ‘You were a bairn at the time,’ she told Libby, ‘and I took you with me to babysit for little Jack. Later, I found I’d left my coat behind, so I put you in your cot and nipped back – and there they were in the hallway. Your father and Jack’s mother – going at it like two ferrets, they were!’
Rendering the other two speechless, she went on. ‘I was so ashamed. My own husband – cavorting with her, and right on our own doorstep!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘So maybe I’m really not to blame after all.’
‘That’s right, Mum. You were not to blame.’ Libby was used to her mother switching from one subject to another, but this time she was shocked. The thought of Jack’s mother and her own father ‘going at it like ferrets’ was not a pleasant one.
‘If I remember rightly,’ she said, ‘Jack’s mum went away and never came back.’
‘That’s right, dear. His poor father passed on. Two years later, young Jack comes home from school to find the house with a “Sold” sign outside. Soon after, his mother packed her bags and took off with her American boyfriend, leaving young Jack to fend for himself.’
Thomas still recalled that day, all those years ago. He also recalled the desolate look on the boy’s face as he walked past his window. ‘What mother would do such a dreadful thing, and just a few days before the boy was about to leave school?’ He tutted loudly. ‘First his father gone, and then his mother. Then he finds himself with no roof over his head. What a dreadful start to his young life! No one cared tuppence about him.’
‘We did – he could have stayed with us until he found somewhere,’ Libby said, rather sadly.
‘Happen he was too proud.’ Thomas too would gladly have given the lad a home.
‘Or maybe he wanted a fresh start,’ Libby mused. ‘Maybe he wanted to put as many miles between himself and Blackburn as he could.’
Thomas agreed. ‘As I recall, he was a sensible, decent sort of lad. More than capable of making his own way in life too, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Eileen smiled. ‘He was such a quiet baby . . . pale-looking and good as gold. And then he turned into a fine, handsome young man.’
Thomas nodded at Eileen’s memories of Jack, but he recalled Jack as being a chubby baby, with a smile to brighten the day and an active curiosity about everyone and everything.
All this talk of Jack made him strong in Libby’s mind. For a long time she had hoped he might come back, but then a new family moved in next door, and she resigned herself to the idea that she would never see him again. To this very day, she missed him. She missed his company and his quiet smile, and the way he always took it on himself to take care of her at school.
Once, after an older girl had bullied and upset her, Jack had shyly kissed her on the mouth, before shooting off quickly, as though having shocked himself. That was the first time he ever kissed her. And the last. Thinking of it now, she involuntarily raised her fingers to her mouth, gently brushing her lips. The memory of Jack’s mouth on hers was surprisingly vivid.
‘Libby!’ Her mother’s raised voice broke the spell. ‘I was talking to you.’
Mortified, Libby was quickly attentive. ‘What is it, Mum?’
‘Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten now, but it doesn’t matter. Must’ve been something and nothing.’
Like Libby, Thomas was miles away, back in the past, thinking of the tragic Redmond family; and particularly of young Jack. ‘What age will he be now?’ he mused. ‘As I recall, he were just a bit older than Libby, so he must be over thirty now.’
‘Oh, dear, is it really that long?’ Eileen was surprised and saddened at the speed with which the years had flown away.
‘I wonder where he went.’ In truth, Libby had never stopped wondering.
Her mother wondered too. ‘I hope he’s all right.’
‘I expect he’s wed,’ Thomas chipped in, ‘wi’ a couple o’ children running round his backside.’
As always, Eileen had a short span of concentration. ‘Libby, now I remember what I wanted to ask you,’ she said.
‘Good. So, what was it, Mum?’
‘Do you ever feel guilty about your father?’
‘Not at all, no.’ She was used to her mother flitting from one subject to another.
‘Don’t you want him back?’
‘Not now. He chose someone else over us and left.’ Libby was more bitter than ever. Convinced that her father’s womanising had damaged her mother’s mind, she had been disgusted to learn that he had even had a fling with Jack’s mother.
‘Don’t you love him?’ Eileen asked.
‘I didn’t even know him, not really.’ Nor did she want to, ‘Don’t forget, I was only a little girl when he left.’
When Eileen again grew silent, Libby wished she hadn’t voiced her true feelings. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to be so hard.’
Eileen understood. ‘You were right,’ she answered. ‘He did hurt us both, very much.’ Her pretty brown eyes misted over. ‘It’s just that, well . . . I really miss him, that’s all.’
‘I realise that,’ Libby said kindly, ‘but it was a long time ago and, like Thomas said, you could never have changed him.’
After her father went away, he was kept alive by the photographs lovingly placed about the house by her mother. And also by the stories her mother would tell over the years, about how it used to be, and how, one day, Ian Harrow was bound to come home. But he never did.
‘It’s best if you don’t think about the bad things any more,’ Libby suggested now.
‘You didn’t know, but last night, when you were fast asleep, I went to find him,’ Eileen confided. ‘I sneaked out and walked the streets – and there he was.’
Sensibly , Libby let her talk. It was the only way.
Eileen mumbled on: ‘I hoped he might be sorry for what he did to us. I wanted it to be like it was before . . . well, you know, don’t you, love?’
‘Yes, Mother, I think I do.’
‘When
