The Runaway Woman

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014

Cover photographs © Mark Owen/Arcangel Images (woman); Mohamad Itani/Trevillion Images (house); Leszek Paradowski/Trevillion Images (path); Shutterstock.com (border)

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007419937

Ebook Edition © February 2014 ISBN: 9780007419944

Version: 2020-10-08

Dedication

This story is for every woman of every age who finds herself lost, lonely and afraid.

Remember – the sun often shines after the rain has gone.

For my Ken – as always.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

A special message from Jo

Part One: No One to Turn to

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Part Two: Revelations

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Part Three: Lucy’s Brave New World

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Part Four: Painful Decisions

Chapter Twenty

Part Five: Sometimes Dreams do Come True

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

If you enjoyed The Runaway Woman read on for a taste Two Sisters, the latest gripping family drama from Josephine Cox

Celebrating the 50th book from the No. 1 Bestseller

The Josephine Cox effect

Praise for Josephine Cox

Read on to discover more about Jo’s other fantastic reads

The Broken Man

Three Letters

Midnight

Born Bad

The Book Retreat

About the Author

Also by Josephine Cox

About the Publisher

A special message from Jo

Dear Readers,

It’s a very strange and exciting feeling to realise that I have written fifty novels, and that my stories have found a place not only in the UK but also in many far-off countries across the world. Many of the millions of people who have taken both me and my stories to heart also take precious time out of their lives to write to me in such heartfelt words; it’s almost as though I were a long-lost friend.

With every one of these much-cherished letters I always write back. Because of my many commitments, it may take a little longer than I would like, and it seems there are never enough hours in the day; but I would not want to change my life for anything. Over the years, at signings and events at various venues, I have met many thousands of my readers, who continue to correspond and share their lives with me, as I do with them. We also keep in touch through my magazine, Chatterbox, which HarperCollins sends out with each new book publication, and now through my Facebook page. Every reader knows me so well, and through their letters they feel they can trust me, and that I would never willingly let them down.

Having such a loyal, worldwide following is something I had never envisaged when I sent my first manuscript to the publishers, and now I feel as though I’ve been accepted into a huge, rambling family. I often think back to my humble beginnings in the backstreets of a northern cotton-mill town. Many of my experiences, good and bad, come into my stories. Characters both angelic and evil people my stories, as they do in life.

At the tender age of four, I would sit on the steps of our house and watch life unfold down the street. I was fascinated by everything around me – especially by the people simply following their daily lives, with all the ups and downs that happen. I took it all into my heart, where it was kept safe, and now those cobbled streets, their mysteries and characters fill my stories – the good and the bad, the darkness and the tears, the joy and the heartache. They’re strong stories, hard and real, with dramatic twists we never seem to expect. Not even I do.

In my fiftieth book, The Runaway Woman, I tell the story of Lucy Lovejoy, a hardworking woman, loyal and true to her family, unaware that her husband, Martin, is cheating on her in the worst possible way. In the wake of her discovery, both her life and the lives of her husband and family are turned upside down, and Lucy knows that this is the moment when she must take a stand. Her incredible strength throughout this turmoil, and in making some unimaginably difficult decisions, surprises everyone. Don’t judge Lucy too harshly. She is a woman on the edge, and, for both Lucy and her husband Martin, there is no easy way out. I have already started my new book, a dark story with many twists and turns. The characters have introduced themselves to me; the scene is set and, as always, I am raring to go.

I have so many stories waiting to be written, and my mind is forever taking me in new and fascinating directions. The truth is, with so much more to come, my fiftieth book seems like just the beginning …

With love always,

PART ONE

Wayburn, Bedfordshire

1962

CHAPTER ONE

DURING THE DAY, Lucy kept herself busy.

That way, she had less time to think about all that was wrong in her life.

At night, though, she would lie awake in her bed, her troubled thoughts wandering back over the years to when she was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

Because of her shy nervous nature, Lucy had always found it hard to make friends. With her plump figure and lack of fashion sense, she believed herself to be unattractive, and unable to fit in with her peers. She was never whistled at, or chatted up by the boys at school, though that didn’t really bother her. As was her nature, she accepted the way of things and took it all in her stride.

Martin Lovejoy was a good-looking boy on the verge of leaving school that summer. Outgoing and flirtatious, he was commonly referred to as Jack the Lad, a title he wore like a badge of honour.

Unlike the other boys, Martin had always seen more to Lucy than her nervous smile and quiet demeanour. He thought her smile was pretty, and her shyness attractive.

Some of the other girls were shameless flirts who would offer themselves to any boy at the merest wink, whereas if Lucy was ever offered a ‘bit of fun’ down a dark alley, she would probably run a mile. But Martin meant to change all that.

While the other boys regarded Lucy as a shrinking violet who was not worthy of their interest, Martin thought they were missing a trick and, to everyone’s surprise, he set his cap at her.

He saw her as a rare challenge, a conquest to be made. A ripe apple, ready to be picked.

On a sweltering hot day during their final week as schoolchildren Martin Lovejoy made his move on Lucy; who could hardly believe that one of the most admired boys in the school had made a play for her.

Her younger sister, Paula, and some of the other girls tried to warn her against him, but she was flattered by Martin’s attention and chose to ignore their advice.

Later, though, she was devastated on discovering that she had made the biggest mistake of her life. By then it was too late. Life had taken her by the throat and forced her into a situation that she bitterly regretted – and still regretted, some twenty-four years on.

Now, with her fortieth birthday just a couple of weeks away, Lucy felt cheated, and desperately lonely. She’d spent all these years looking after her husband Martin and their children. She also worked, to help make ends meet. Yet she was deeply ashamed of these feelings, believing it was wrong to regret her life, especially when she had been blessed with a family, while many women had not been so fortunate.

Her husband, Martin, was a hard worker who had recently set himself up in business. He professed to love the ground she walked on and, as a dutiful wife, Lucy did her best to keep him happy, but for her, there was something missing from their marriage. Something precious that had been lost … way back there, on the long, lonely journey. He never said she looked nice, never noticed what she was wearing, if she looked tired, if she could do with a hand. Never noticed her at all, in fact.

Having suffered yet another sleepless night, Lucy lay very still in the bed, being careful not to wake Martin, who was gently snoring beside her. He was sleeping so peacefully, she was made to wonder if he ever thought about their lives together; about how futile and cold it all seemed.

Yet, for all her regrets and insecurities, Lucy had put her heart and soul into being a good wife, a loving mother and a loyal sister, even though sometimes she resented the manner in which the family took her for granted. They rarely ever asked her how she was, or how her day had been at the factory.

Over the years, she had suggested to her sister, Paula, that it might be nice to spend a pleasant hour or so shopping in Bedford, and maybe enjoying a light lunch before they headed home. Unfortunately there was always a reason why Paula could not go with her. Lucy accepted the situation without question.

She had offered her own daughter, Anne, the same invitation, but she was too busy, or going out with a friend, or just not in the mood. In the end, to avoid embarrassment, Lucy stopped asking.

Every year her birthday was almost a non-event. Even when she put on a little family party, they were either very late to arrive, or they presented an excuse for not arriving at all. She always received a present from Martin and the children, but because of other pressures or simply absent-mindedness, she often had to wait until the next day, when they would rush in with apologies. She never made a fuss, because what would be the point?

They hardly ever made time to sit and chat with her. Anne and Paula’s visits would be little more than a cup of tea, then a quick peck on the cheek and they’d be off out the door. More often than not, Martin would then go off down the pub. ‘I’ll not be long,’ he’d promise her. But it would be gone midnight when he got home.

Lucy was daunted by the fact that she would soon be forty years old, especially when she considered she had done nothing with her life. She had never seen much outside Wayburn, and as the years went by, the idea of travelling and doing the exciting things she had once dreamed of seemed increasingly out of her reach. She now feared her life would remain as it was until she became old and unable to make changes.

As with all the other birthdays, she wondered if this landmark birthday would arrive quietly and leave on tiptoe, though if it did she knew she would take it in her stride, as ever, while secretly wondering if her family could ever love her as much as she loved them.

There were even times when she asked herself if she was a useless wife, mother and grandmother. She hoped not, because her family was all she had. In fact, they were her very world. Consequently she felt it was wrong of her to ask more of them than they could give.

There was one bright side to Lucy’s life, however. She was immensely grateful for her job at the plastics factory. She took great pride in her work, and enjoyed the company of her lively colleagues. Chatting with them made her feel alive, because to them she was not just someone’s wife, mother or grandmother. Instead, she was Lucy, a well-respected and much-valued workmate.

Deep in thought, Lucy was startled to hear the hallway clock strike five. Careful not to wake Martin, she slithered out of bed and into her dressing gown, then she softly slid the eiderdown over the dip in the bed where she had lain.

Gazing down on her sleeping husband, she tortured herself with regrets. So many wasted years, she thought bitterly. So many lost dreams.

Inevitably, her thoughts returned to their two children. Sam was now twenty-one. Like all young men he could be bullish and unpredictable, but beneath all the bravado, he had a sense of purpose.

At twenty-three, Anne was her first-born. She was confident, easily hassled, and occasionally argumentative. She was the mother of Luke, almost one year old.

The thought of her only grandchild brought a measure of joy to Lucy’s heart. Full of life, he had a ready smile and laughing eyes that made you want to dance, and he was an absolute delight.

Taking a moment to close her eyes, Lucy cast her mind back to when she was a shy, innocent girl, afraid of everyone and everything; until Martin made friends with her in the school grounds one sunny afternoon.

With his smiling brown eyes and wild shock of thick, dark hair, he stood out from the crowd. Tall and lean, with an attractive, lazy way of walking, he was a magnet to the opposite sex. After that first meeting, Lucy was instantly drawn to him, though never in a million years did she imagine how their lives would intertwine. It would have been impossible to believe that less than two years after their first date she would not only be Martin’s wife, but she would also be mother to his child.

Over the years, Lucy had often wondered about that fateful night, when curiosity, excitement and a sense of belonging took away their common sense. The consequence of that had carried them to this point in their lives, and Lucy had come to realise how wrong they had been to get married, especially when they were both so young, with little knowledge of real life and responsibility. The sad truth was, that she had never been truly happy; not on the day they got married, and certainly not now.

For a long time, she had desperately wanted to find a way out of this mundane life, but her strong sense of duty gave her no easy way out.

Now, she often looked down on Martin’s sleeping face, and thought that, yes, she did love him; if loving him was to take care of him, to feed him, wash and iron his clothes and do her best to make sure he was content.

She went to gaze out the window. I do love you, Martin, she thought, but I don’t know you … at least not in the way I should.

She resented the way he had always made the important decisions without consulting her. Also, she resented the cowardly way she had allowed herself to go along with his decisions. When they were still at school and she found herself pregnant, it was Martin who had decided that keeping it a secret was the best thing to do. Also, it was he who’d insisted they should get married as soon as possible so that no one would find out right away. But they had been wrong, Lucy now knew. They should have confided in someone older and wiser, whom they could trust. Someone who might have helped them.

Choking back the anger, she became tearful. I should never have listened to you, she thought. I wanted to tell them the truth, but you wouldn’t let me. She recalled vividly how he threatened to say the baby wasn’t his.

Though when Mum guessed I was pregnant, you did stand by me. Even so, on my sixteenth birthday, when we were getting married, I was so afraid that you would get scared and run off at the last minute and I would have to face it all on my own.

Her homely features creased in a smile. You didn’t run though, did you? She turned, crept back and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘Now though, I can’t understand what’s happened to us, Martin,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not happy, and sometimes I believe you feel the same.’

When a tear escaped down her cheek, she angrily wiped it away. It was no good crying. What was done was done, and there seemed no turning back.

She continued to observe him a moment longer, hating herself for being cowardly back then when they were unsure and afraid. How could she ever forget the shame and the trauma when they told their families that she was expecting a child, when she was little more than a child herself?

On the whole, over the years, Martin had been a good man. Right from when their daughter was born, he had proved himself to be a good husband and a fine father – although if she were honest there had been times when she might have preferred him to spend more time at home with her and the baby.

That particular problem still niggled her, especially when he chose to share all his leisure time with his mates, rather than with her. She was at home every evening – at first with the babies, and now alone.

Lucy’s insecurities had never really gone away.

What if he had never loved her at all? What if he had only married her because she was having his child? Maybe, unknown to her, he also had regret and doubts about the traumatic decision they had made back then. Yes! Maybe he felt like she did: cheated and alone, in a marriage born out of panic.

As a child, Lucy had always dreamed that her wedding day would be a magical, proud occasion. Instead, on her sixteenth birthday, it was a frantic rush, and all because of one dark and unforgettable night behind the Roxy.

Just two years after their daughter Anne was born, Lucy and Martin were blessed with the arrival of their second child – a boy who they named Samuel. Sam. Martin then decided that two children were enough, and took precautions to make sure their family never grew any larger.

Lucy, over the years, had devoted her life to her family. Martin played his part well, but preferred to be fishing, playing darts down the pub or kicking a ball about on the green with his friends.

After Anne married, and with Sam increasingly leading his own life, Lucy was mostly left on her own.

Inevitably, the distance between her and Martin began to widen. One time he came home so drunk he could hardly stand. ‘A mate of a mate was out on his stag do,’ he lied, ‘so we decided to make a night of it.’ Lucy made no comment, but from the whiff of cheap perfume she suspected he may have been enjoying female company.

After the second drunken episode, he gave no explanation, and Lucy asked for none. Consequently, the gulf between them became a chasm, with Lucy feeling increasingly isolated.

She had learned to take the good with the bad, but lately she had grown increasingly restless. One way or another things would have to change. She had no idea how or when, yet change they must, because if they continued as they were now, she would likely spend the rest of her life regretting it. Now, heading towards her fortieth birthday, she assumed that half her life was already gone; did she really want to spend her latter years wishing she had found the courage to put herself first, especially now, with the children grown up?

With that thought burning in her mind, she made her way downstairs. Usually after a bad night there was no spring in her step, but today was different. Never before had she felt so defiant.

If she truly wanted it, she believed that she could make a change. She could rebel. She could do something outrageous – something she had never done before.

But then the doubts crept back. Where would she start? What would the family say if she was to do something out of the ordinary? As Martin had once remarked, ‘You could set your clock by our Lucy. Always on time, and everything in its place, that’s her.’ The idea of timid Lucy Lovejoy actually rebelling was unbelievable.

But then the more Lucy thought about it, the more excited she became. So what if she was coming up to her fortieth birthday – surely it wasn’t too late to step out of her routine? To do something so brave and wonderful that she would remember it for ever? What was so wicked about that?

Her imagination ran riot. Twirling round the kitchen, she listed her unlikely ambitions aloud in a singsong way: ‘I could go dancing till dawn, or run full pelt along the promenade, in nothing but a tiny swimsuit and flimsy throw-on. Oh, and I might even book myself onto a big cruise ship … and sail off to exotic places.’

But then suddenly her mood changed as she sat down at the table. Who am I fooling? she asked herself. I’ve got no money to speak of, and anyway it’s too late now. It’s such a pity, though, because there are so many exciting things I’ve never done. I’ve never been to London, or a theatre, and though I’ve always wanted to, I’ve never learned to roller-skate … The sorry list of lost opportunities was endless. She had never worn a short, swingy skirt, or had a ride at a fairground. Never even learned to swim. In fact, she had never done anything exciting or daring. ‘You’re a hopeless case, Lucy Lovejoy!’ she declared.

Instead, she had become a watcher. Watching the children play in the sand. Watching everyone else enjoying themselves while she minded the bags or the pram, or kept the towels dry while they were swimming at the local indoor pool. She had always been a shadow in the background. Hardly noticeable, always in demand to smooth the way for the family. In the end, there was never any time for her.

She never complained, so it didn’t cross anyone’s mind that she might want to live a little, to join in the fun while someone else watched the bags and the pram.

Lucy cast her mind back. She was sure there must have been times when the family did ask her to join in but, for whatever reason, she never did.