Living a Lie
by
Josephine Cox
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The story of Josephine Cox is as extraordinary as anything in her novels. Born in a cotton-mill house in Blackburn, she was one of ten children. Her parents, she says, brought out the worst in each other, and life was full of tragedy and hardship but not without love and laughter. At the age of sixteen, Josephine met and married ‘a caring and wonderful man’, and had two sons.
When the boys started school, she decided to go to college and eventually gained a place at Cambridge University, though was unable to take this up as it would have meant living away from home. However, she did go into teaching, while at the same time helping to renovate the derelict council house that was their home, coping with the problems caused by her mother’s unhappy home life and writing her first full-length novel. Not surprisingly, she then won the “Superwoman of Great Britain’ Award, for which her family had secretly entered her, and this coincided with the acceptance of her novel for publication.
Josephine gave up teaching in order to write full time. She says “I love writing, both recreating scenes and characters from my past, together with new story lines which mingle naturally with the old. I could never imagine a single day without writing, and it’s been that way since as far back as I can remember.”
Her previous novels of North Country life are all available from Headline and are immensely popular.
Copyright 1995 Josephine Cox
The right of Josephine Cox to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 1995 by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
First published in paperback in 1996 by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
10 987654321
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 0 7472 4832 X
Printed and bound in Great Britain by BPC Paperbacks Ltd
HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING A division of Hodder Headline
PLC 338 Euston
Road London NW1 3BH
For Hilary and Bernie
Fate brought us together. Friendship will keep us close. Luv you!
PART ONE
•••
1975 ~ CHOICES
CHAPTER ONE
Riddled with guilt, the young woman kept her gaze averted. Beneath her calm and elegant manner seethed a terrible secret, a dark and dangerous intent that no one there could have foreseen, least of all the dark-haired girl hurrying along beside her.
It was 1975. To the sober-suited commuters waiting for the train to London, Lucinda Marsh was a ray of sunshine, a vision of loveliness in high heels and a red tight-fitting two-piece. With her trim figure, mass of wavy golden hair and smiling blue eyes, she was a welcome distraction.
The platform was crowded. Only a short while ago there had been the usual daily chatter about the state of the government and Margaret Thatcher’s emergence as new Tory leader, the awful February weather and the train being late yet again. The meaningless chatter subsided with the arrival of the young woman and the girl.
At first there were admiring glances, then admiration gave way to curiosity, then almost to a sense of expectancy.
Pausing by the edge of the platform, Lucinda glanced nervously at the middle-aged man standing nearby. He was holding a newspaper in front of his face, but his eyes peeped over the top and he smiled at the girl with Lucinda a delightful creature with coal-black hair and earth-coloured eyes. When, embarrassed, she looked away, he bent his head to read, but like the others was captivated by Lucinda, strangely moved by her beauty and her manner.
There was something secretive about her, something oddly bewitching.
Gripping the girl’s hand, the young woman made her way to the far end of the platform, the tips of her heels echoing against the cold hard ground, her outer composure belying the turmoil inside and the questions, always the same, only this time more urgent.
Was she right? Was she wrong? This was not the first time she had made a decision to escape, but then she had always changed her mind, deciding she should give it another try, for Kitty’s sake if not for her own. This time, nothing on God’s earth could make her change her mind. Today was her day. This time she was in control. For too long she had endured agonies in the name of love. Soon the agony would be over. Not his though. To hell with him!
Dressed for the occasion, she was ready for the long journey. As she mentally prepared herself, she could feel Kitty’s hand in hers and her heart warmed with love.
Pausing to look down on that trusting young face, she was shaken by the dark eyes that returned her glance: dark brooding eyes, incredibly beautiful. Her father’s eyes. Yet where Bob’s intense gaze instilled fear in her, Kitty’s inquisitive glance created only a sense of terrible guilt.
Stooping closer she asked tenderly, “Are you all right?” While she talked, her long manicured fingers toyed with the girl’s rich black tresses.
Kitty was twelve years old. She loved adventure, and she adored her mother.
“Where are we going?” she asked for the umpteenth time.
Last night her parents had quarrelled again. As she had so many times before. Kitty had sat on the stairs listening, afraid to go in, yet wanting to stop them. But how could she stop them? She was only a girl, and they were adults.
Lucinda too was reliving the memory of last night.
“You shouldn’t ask where we’re going,” she gently chided.
“Are we going to London?” Delightful visions of parks and palaces filled her mind.
Her mother laughed softly. “We’ll see.”
“Sarah wanted me to call for her this morning.” Kitty and Sarah Jenkins had known each other forever. “We’re playing clarinet in the school concert.”
“You’re very fond of her, aren’t you? And her brother Harry.” Lucinda smiled knowingly. “Has he taken up music lessons yet?”
“No.” Kitty was only a little disappointed. “He’d rather play football and swim in the school team.” Her young heart bubbled with joy. “But he’s coming to listen to me and Sarah play in the concert.”
A terrible thought struck her.
“We will be back in time for the concert tonight, won’t we?”
Yet again Lucinda questioned what she was about to do. This morning she had been so sure. Now she could hardly suppress the niggling doubts that crept up on her.
“There are more important things than school,” she said finally. “Do you know what happened last night? Did you hear your father?”
Kitty lowered her gaze. “You were fighting.”
“You don’t ever want that to happen again, do you?”
“No.”
“Kitty?” The voice was softer now. “Look at me.”
Kitty didn’t want to look up. Whatever her mother said, it would happen again. It always did.
“Kitty?” There were tears in the voice, and something else, something that intrigued the child.
“Please…look at me.” Kitty raised her dark eyes and what she saw made her ashamed. Her mother was crying.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt responsible somehow.
“Do you love me, Kitty?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to com
e with me?”
“Yes.”
“Kitty?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I don’t want you to hate your father. Especially not today.”
There were times when Kitty did hate him, but mostly she tried not to think about it.
“I wish you wouldn’t fight.”
“Do you think it’s my fault?”
“Not all the time.”
“Your father won’t let us live in peace. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Kitty recalled the many times when she and her mother would come home from shopping and there would be a furious row. Her father would say cruel things, accusing her mother of meeting some man or other, then he would shout and scream.
The last time he’d hit out with his belt, cutting her mother’s face and making it bleed.
“Some men are bad. Kitty.”
“Why?”
“They like to hurt.” Gently fingering the bruise on her temple, Lucinda confessed, “Your father hit me again last night…see?”
Gingerly lifting a strand of hair, she revealed an angry red weal that stretched from brow to temple.
When she realised that the man standing nearby was watching, she quickly covered up the mark and looked away.
“I wish the train would come!” she snapped. If it didn’t come now, she might lose her courage.
“Does Daddy know where we’re going?”
Lucinda began to think more clearly. She mustn’t upset the girl. Maybe she should have left Kitty behind, but then what? Too soon she would be a woman. Then she could meet a man like Robert Marsh, a man who would rob her of her dignity and make her feel inferior, a man who might beat her until she was black and blue—a man who would think nothing of taking what he wanted, then treating her like so much dirt beneath his feet. She could never let that happen to Kitty.
“No, sweetheart,” she answered kindly, “Daddy doesn’t know where we’re going.”
When Bob came home there would be a note waiting for him, a note that told him everything. He would not understand. He never did.
But it would be done and, rightly or wrongly, he must share the blame.
Suddenly she was nervous. Suppose Bob came home early? Suppose he found out where she’d gone and came looking for her?
The idea made her tremble inside.
When the destination of the approaching train was announced over the Tannoy, Lucinda Marsh quietly addressed her child.
“Stay close, sweetheart.” Her voice was soft and caressing as she ran her fingers over the black wavy hair, brushing it back from the girl’s forehead and smiling lovingly into those dark trusting eyes. “When the train comes in, you must keep hold of my hand.” Fearing that Bob might find them before she could carry out her intent, desperation betrayed itself in her voice.
When Kitty looked up inquisitively, she bent to kiss the girl on the forehead.
“Trust me,” she whispered hoarsely. “You mustn’t run away.”
Suddenly, and for no reason she could think of, Kitty was afraid. She asked again, “Where are we going?”
“Where we can never be hurt again,” her mother answered.
“Where we can always be together.” She didn’t look at Kitty. She too was afraid. Afraid those dark eyes might make her change her mind. “Remember now, stay close.”
The girl’s reply was lost as the train came into sight. People began surging towards the platform’s edge. In that moment Lucinda glanced over to where the man had been standing. He was nearer now; his newspaper neatly folded and tucked into his jacket pocket. If he stretched out his arm he could touch her.
Suddenly, gripping Kitty’s hand so hard she made her wince, Lucinda started walking down the platform, towards the train. With some way still to go before it entered the station, it was approaching fast.
“I’m not afraid,” she murmured, “I’m not afraid.” But she was. And yet, at the same time, she felt exhilarated.
With the train speeding towards them, she waited for the inevitable.
“Keep hold of Mummy’s hand, sweetheart,” she urged. She could feel Kitty pulling away, as though she sensed something terrible. Luanda’s grip tightened.
“It won’t be long now,” she promised. For the briefest moment she closed her eyes and softly prayed.
Most people remained at the centre of the platform. As the train came speeding into the station, Lucinda prepared herself. Only another minute and she would be free. The words of an Abba song sped through her mind; she actually began singing them. A last smile at the daughter she adored, the sign of the cross to keep the devil away, and with one almighty leap she threw herself on to the track.
Kitty’s screams echoed along the platform. With her mother’s hand wrapped tightly about her own, she felt herself being propelled forward. Her feet left the platform.
All she could recall later was the train driver’s eyes, wide with horror, and a searing pain across her neck. Then it was dark, and all feeling was gone.
Shocked and tearful, the passengers gave their versions of what they had seen.
“She was so beautiful,” said one.
“Disturbed,” said another.
“You could see the madness in her eyes.”
The man who had been closest watched the first ambulance leave. It went at a steady pace. There was no emergency now. It was too late for that.
“How could she want to take an innocent child with her?” he cried groaning with pain when the ambulance man strapped his injured wrist. His shirt was torn and there was a kind of madness in his own eyes as he told how he had watched mother and child fall beneath the train.
“All along I had an idea she meant to do something crazy.”
The police officer thanked him for his statement.
“If it hadn’t been for you, there would have been two dead people,” he reminded him. “It took courage to do what you did.”
When his wrist was made comfortable and the police officer had gone to speak to other witnesses, the man walked over to where a second ambulance man was tending the survivor. She was sitting bolt upright on the ground, wrapped in a rug, her wide eyes filled with terror.
Droplets of blood dripped from the gash on her neck, falling on to her bare arm where they made a crimson trail. He had done that. It sickened him.
Looking at his finger, he saw the ring that had sliced into her neck.
The gold sovereign had been one of his most valued possessions. Now it was contaminated, the rim thick with gouged skin. Filled with disgust, he ripped it off and threw it down. Addressing the ambulance man he asked, “Will she be all right?”
“She’ll be fine,” came the answer. “Thanks to you.”
That was all he needed to know. He left then. Like all true heroes, he wanted no reward. It was enough to know he had saved a life. Kitty watched intently.
“Please! Where’s my mother?” she pleaded. First her mother had been beside her, then it was dark; now it was light again and her mother was gone.
They settled her into the ambulance. “All in good time, young lady. First we’ll get you to hospital…let the doctors look at this gash, eh?”
In the ambulance man’s opinion she had had a miraculous escape, with no bones broken and no serious injury, apart from the shock which would take its course. He had cleaned the deep neck wound and, though he was sure it would scar, it posed no threat. He smiled at her.
“You’ll have to be brave,” he warned, though he didn’t tell her the worst. He didn’t say her mother was never coming back.
CHAPTER TWO
Kitty sat on the stairs. This time it was her father and her aunt who were fighting.
“Like it or not, she’s your responsibility. It’s up to you to take care of her.”
“For God’s sake, woman, don’t you think I’ve tried?” Bob Marsh paced the room, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as he contemplated the future. “I thought you of all people would h
elp.”
“Well, you can think again, because I’ve enough kids of my own to take care of.”
Glancing towards the door, Mildred lowered her voice. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Who knows? Since she came home from the hospital, she hides herself away.” Straightening his shoulders, Bob looked at her in appeal. “These past weeks have been a nightmare…finding that note…realising what Lucinda meant to do…all the questions afterwards…the inquest and then the funeral.”
He paused, sighing aloud, filled with self-pity.
“The girl is no help either.” He made a sour expression. “She blames me, you know? The little cow has the gall to blame me!”
“And you want her to believe it was all Lucinda’s fault? Is that what you’re saying?”
Enraged he slammed his fist against the wall.
“Damn it all, Mildred, anybody would think I threw her under that bloody train!”
There was a short silence, until she answered in a hard voice, “You might as well have.”
His violent reaction took her by surprise. Swinging around, he slapped her hard on the face.
“You bitch! You’re no better than she was.”
“And you’re the worst kind of coward.” Wiping the blood from her mouth she taunted him, “You enjoyed hitting Lucinda too, didn’t you? Time and again you hit her, put her in hospital, took pleasure in making her life a misery.”
“I gave her everything!”
“Oh, you gave her money, I’ll not deny that. Clothes and jewels and this fine big house.”
With a wave of her hand Mildred encompassed the handsome rosewood furniture, the tall display cabinet filled with silver and crystal; above the inglenook fireplace hung a splendid oil painting, and the carpets were the plushest money could buy.
“But it meant nothing, don’t you see that? She wanted your trust…a love that was as deep and loyal as hers. She needed tenderness. She needed a man who could take her in his arms and love her for what she was, not for what he wanted her to be.”
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