Back The Return
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Anita Frank
  4. Note to Readers
  5. Dedication
  6. Part One
  7. Chapter One
  8. Chapter Two
  9. Chapter Three
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-One
  28. Chapter Twenty-Two
  29. Chapter Twenty-Three
  30. Chapter Twenty-Four
  31. Chapter Twenty-Five
  32. Chapter Twenty-Six
  33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-One
  38. Chapter Thirty-Two
  39. Chapter Thirty-Three
  40. Chapter Thirty-Four
  41. Chapter Thirty-Five
  42. Chapter Thirty-Six
  43. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  44. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  45. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  46. Chapter Forty
  47. Part Two
  48. Chapter Forty-One
  49. Chapter Forty-Two
  50. Chapter Forty-Three
  51. Chapter Forty-Four
  52. Chapter Forty-Five
  53. Chapter Forty-Six
  54. Chapter Forty-Seven
  55. Chapter Forty-Eight
  56. Chapter Forty-Nine
  57. Chapter Fifty
  58. Chapter Fifty-One
  59. Chapter Fifty-Two
  60. Chapter Fifty-Three
  61. Chapter Fifty-Four
  62. Chapter Fifty-Five
  63. Chapter Fifty-Six
  64. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  65. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  66. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  67. Chapter Sixty
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. Extract
  70. Chapter One
  71. Chapter Two
  72. Chapter Three
  73. About the Publisher

She brings to Jack’s mind the woman who lived three doors down from them in Newcastle. She would walk the cobbled pathway behind the houses unkempt – her hair matted, her face smudged, a holed cardigan over a nightdress drab with wear – muttering to herself, fingernails bitten to the quick bunched at her cracked lips, her downcast eyes raking left to right as she searched for something that could never be found. The young children were all afraid of her, for she would reach for them adoringly, then cry with pain as they shied away, while the older ones mocked her for her madness. And she was mad, Jack’s mother said, driven mad by the death of her only bairn. Her child’s sudden passing had been incomprehensible, and unable to fathom her loss, her sanity fractured. Her husband had abandoned her and she was left alone, her mind rotting, just as their narrow terrace, neglected, began to rot around her. That Gwen’s behaviour should now cause him to recall that grieving woman frightens Jack. He takes a step towards her.

‘Gwen—’

‘I have to see him.’

She lifts her head. Her eyes shimmer with fervour. ‘I need to see Gordon … now … I need to speak to him, to … don’t you see? He hasn’t told his parents about us, so they’ve arranged this marriage without his consent. I must go to him now, so we can tell them together …’

He blocks her attempt to pass, grabbing hold of her arms as she struggles to push him aside.

‘Let me go!’

‘You can’t speak to him, Gwen. Not here, not now, not like this.’

‘I can … I must …’ She claws at his chest. ‘Blast it, Jack, let me go!’

But he clenches his jaw and bears the violence of her frantic struggle, a struggle fuelled by panic and rage and grief in equal measure. He murmurs her name softly, begging her to stop and think. He will not let her subject herself to the raw humiliation such a confrontation is sure to bring. Gradually, the fight ebbs from her as the reality of her situation dawns. She emits a low moan as her knees give way; he pulls her to him. Enclosed in his embrace, she sobs against his chest. Jack rests his chin on her bowed head, her tears dampening his skin. By some form of osmosis, he absorbs her grief, her disappointment, until soon his own heart is breaking.

‘Let’s get you home,’ he says, hoarse with emotion.

The crowd beyond the marquee are clapping again. Winners are being announced and prizes bestowed.

‘Dad will wonder where I am …’