‘Are you sulking?’
‘I never, ever sulk.’ Corey frowned. ‘Can’t bear sulkers. I get a bit mad, lose my temper, but it only ever lasts two minutes.’
‘You drove off pretty quickly.’
‘That was my two minutes of temper.’ Corey sat on the floor and rubbed at his hair once more. God, he was gorgeous. Tired, rumpled and cross. But bloody gorgeous. I longed to go over and sit on the floor next to him.
‘So why didn’t you come back? You know, if this temper thing of yours is only a two-minute window.’
‘What and let Milo get another eyeful? I’d no idea where you were going with it all. We might have driven back down the lane and you could have been horizontal with your ex by then; or up against the Portaloo, swinging from the rafters or pole dancing around the scaffolding.’ Corey gave me a wintry smile.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous? Charlie, you were going for it.’
‘But you realised it was Dominic? My ex?’
Corey frowned. ‘Is that supposed to make it all right? I told you I’d met Dominic Abraham before. I think he was wearing the same all black outfit when he seduced my mother into spending ridiculous amounts of money with him.’
‘But, Corey, I had absolutely no idea he was going to suddenly turn up. It was as much a shock to me as it must have been to you.’
‘You were looking pretty glam. Not your usual working gear.’
‘I wanted to look nice for Milo.’ I sighed. ‘Do you think I could have some more of that whisky?’
Corey poured me a couple of fingers, added ice and sat back against the sofa. ‘Go on.’
‘And, I didn’t tell anyone except Mum, but I was also waiting for a couple to arrive from Design Today. I’d been told I’d been nominated for a design award.’ I shrugged. ‘Dominic just happened to be one of the judges.’
Corey laughed mirthlessly. ‘Very convenient.’
‘I didn’t know that. Look, Corey, do you think I’d have thumped Dominic, messed up my chances of winning an award and embarrassed myself trailing round London looking for you if I had any feelings whatsoever for that pillock?’ I shook my head, suddenly defeated. ‘I know how it must have looked, I know it must have been awful for you trying to explain to Milo, but it meant absolutely nothing. Actually, yes it did…’ I stood up, drained my glass, and reached for my coat. ‘It meant… it meant I knew I was in love with someone else.’
‘Where are you going?’ Corey lay back on the floor and closed his eyes.
‘I’m off. There must be a hotel somewhere round here.’
‘It’s Eaton Square. Bloody expensive round here.’
‘Well then, I’ll sit on King’s Cross station and wait for the milk train back home.’
Corey opened one eye. ‘The milk train? Didn’t they stop in the 1960s?’
‘Whatever.’
‘So,’ Corey said, closing his eyes again, ‘do feel free to leave; the door’s not locked. But… this, er, this… someone else you say you’re in love with. Anyone I know?’
‘Might be.’
‘Who’s sulking now?’ Corey started to laugh. ‘Come here, you idiot.’ He opened his arms and I went over and lay down on the floor with him. He wrapped his arms tightly round me and I closed my eyes. He smelled so right, felt so right. It was, I knew, going to be all right.
37
On the Sunday morning we set off back north in convoy: James and Louise in Louise’s car and Corey, Milo and me in a hired Audi.
I’d spent two days in Eaton Square and fallen more and more in love with Corey Mackenzie, as well as being welcomed and made to feel totally at home by Louise, James – I couldn’t think of him as Jim – and even Milo, whom I’d apparently won over, not just with my skill at sorting some complicated Lego model, but with the fact that I used to sit next to Man United’s newly acquired striker at primary school when I was seven.
James. What can I say about James? He was everything Madge had ever said about him – and more. At ninety-seven he was still amazingly alert and on the Saturday afternoon, while Corey and Louise took Milo up to Hampstead Heath with a neighbour’s dog, James and I had continued our chat from the previous evening, condensing the sixty-five years since he’d last seen Madge into a couple of hours.
‘Please come up and see Madge, James.’
‘Do you think it’s what Madge wants?’
‘To be honest, she did say she wanted you to remember her as she was, you know, as a young woman…’
‘She’ll always be young and beautiful to me.’ James had held my eyes and not said anything for a few seconds. ‘I want to see her, Charlotte, you know, while I can…?’
I’d nodded. ‘I know,’ I smiled. ‘I know.’
*
By two in the afternoon, James and Louise were booked into the one decent hotel in Midhope and, after giving Milo lunch there, Corey and he set off on the forty-minute journey across the M62 back to Manchester. I’d phoned Mum and told her James was with me and I was going to take him over to Almast Haven to see Madge.
‘I think you need to tell her, Mum. You know, warn her. We don’t want the shock to kill her.’
‘And she’ll need her best dress and her lipstick on…’ Mum was excited. ‘My grandfather. I’m going to meet my grandfather… What about Mum? Should I be getting your granny Nancy over there… you know, to meet her father at last…?’
‘I wouldn’t, Mum. I think at this stage the fewer people the better. Just tell Madge James is coming to see her and then, and then… oh gosh, I don’t know, we’ll just have to play it by ear.’ I was so nervous, excited, but terrified of Madge’s reaction. What if she refused to see him?
*
Madge sat ram-rod straight in her favourite chair, her eyes fixed on the closed door of her room as she waited. She’d said she didn’t want anyone with her, had sent Kate downstairs to the lounge with all the old dodderers. She needed to see James alone.
It was four thirty. Tea-time. She could hear the trundle of the tea-trolley as it clattered its way from the kitchen along the corridor to the lounge where the residents would be eagerly anticipating the fish-paste sandwiches and lemon drizzle cake. Anything to break the monotony of a long Sunday afternoon, made even longer by the lengthening days as Easter approached.
Just once more. She had to be with James just once more.
Madge kept her eyes on the door. Five minutes had passed since she’d last looked at her little wristwatch; an hour since Kate had told her James was coming to see her. She glanced towards the window, allowing herself just a few seconds away from her constant vigil on the door. A weak sunshine was continuing to light the sky to her right. She was glad: rain and cloud wouldn’t have been right.
The door opened and he was here, his still-tall frame – now somewhat stooped – filling the space, those brown eyes immediately meeting her own.
James.
‘Hello, Midge, darling, I’m here. I’m here for you now, my love.’ He walked over to her, placed the tiny gold cross in her lap and then, taking both her hands in his, bent to kiss her.
The years fell away, taking with them the frailty of old age and, as Madge kissed him in return, she was nineteen once more and with the only man she’d ever truly loved.
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Acknowledgements
My thanks, as always, to my agent Anne Williams at KHLA literary agency and the fabulous team at Aria.
The story of Holly Close Farm is one I’ve wanted to write for a long time. Years ago, when my husband and I were looking for the perfect house, we came acro
ss a farmhouse for sale. We didn’t buy it for a number of reasons but the story of a farmer, Alfred Moore, who’d once lived there, fascinated me and I did a lot of reading around his case. He was a petty burglar who was hanged at Leeds in the early 1950s for the murder of two policemen at the farmhouse. While the tale of Charlie and Madge at Holly Close Farm is nothing whatsoever like the Alfred Moore story, I would like to acknowledge the influence this case had on the telling of my story of Holly Close Farm. Particularly as, I know, there are family and friends of Alfred Moore who still believe he was innocent of the murders.
About Julie Houston
JULIE HOUSTON is the author of The One Saving Grace, Goodness, Grace and Me and Looking for Lucy, a Kindle top 100 general bestseller and a Kindle Number 1 bestseller. She is married, with two teenage children and a mad cockerpoo and, like her heroine, lives in a West Yorkshire village. She is also a teacher and a magistrate.
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Julie Houston, 2019
The moral right of Julie Houston to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781788549813
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