Free The Journey by Josephine Cox Page B

you in the same way? ”
    He smiled painfully at that, a sad, lonely smile that made her feel guilty. “We can’t always choose whom we love,” he answered wisely. “I didn’t choose to fall head over heels in love with Lucy, any more than she chose to fall head over heels in love with your daddy.”
    He gave a long, rippling sigh. “And who could blame her for that. Y’see, Barney Davidson was a very special man. Not because he was handsome or rich, or even because he was exceptional in ways we mere mortals might understand.” His eyes shone with admiration. “No! He was more than that. He was deep, and kind …” Hesitating, he gave a shrug. “Sometimes, words alone can never describe someone.”
    “Please, Arthur, will you try to describe him for me? No one ever talks about him. I know my stepfather took good care of us, and I’ll always treasure him for that, but he died when I was about seven, and I don’t really miss him. It’s my real dad I want to reach out for.”
    Arthur was shocked to see the tears running down her face and once again, was tempted to tell her everything. “You never knew him, did you, lass—not really?” he murmured. “You were only a wee thing when we lost him. He was my dear, dear friend … the best pal a man could ever have, and I loved him for it.”
    Afraid of losing the moment again, Mary persisted. “Please, tell me what you know, what you and Mother have always kept from me.” Her voice broke. “I will never rest until I know what happened, and don’t tell me there was nothing untoward in my parents’ lives, because in here …” she tapped the cradle of her heart “… I know there was.”
    Deeply moved, he looked into those lovely, tearful eyes. “Your mother should never have kept it from you,” he conceded gruffly. “I’ve always known she was wrong about that. I told her you had every right to know, that you were Barney’s child through and through. But she was afraid … always afraid.”
    “Afraid of what?” Mary gave a sigh of relief. At last she was getting nearer to the truth.
    “I can’t tell.” He looked from her to Ben. “I made a promise. NO!” He shook his head. “I never did make that promise. I thought it would be wrong, d’you see? I told her, ‘Mary will have to know everything one day’ …” His words trailed away.
    “Arthur?” The girl’s voice penetrated his deeper thoughts. “That day is here and now. And you’re right: I have to know, so tell me … please.”
    Snatching his hand from her grip, Arthur scrambled out of the chair. He paced the floor awhile, then took a moment to stare out of the window at the night, but he said nothing for what seemed an age. Then he walked to the door, opened it and went out, and from the room they could see him standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. His lips were moving, but they could not hear what he was saying.
    Mary went to get off the sofa, but Ben reached out and, with a gentle pressure of his hand, held her there. “Best to leave him,” he whispered. “Give him time.” And, knowing Ben was right, she remained still until the little fellow came back into the room.
    Upstairs, Lucy thought she heard something. A voice. His voice. Half-asleep, her brain numbed by the sedative, she called out his name. “Barney!” Her voice, and her heart broke, and she could speak no more.
    Restless as always, she turned. Forcing open her eyes against the powerful opiate in her veins, and summoning every last ounce of strength, she stretched out her hand, and felt the hard edge of the bedside drawer … Inching it open, she took out a long metal biscuit-box and drew it to her chest, where it lay while she caught her breath and recovered her strength.
    A moment later she had opened the lid and dipping her fingers inside, she lifted out a photograph and a long envelope, yellow with age and worn at the corners from where she had opened it many times over the years.
    Holding the photograph