Never Another You Read Free Page B

taken away to a time ago, when all she desired was Jack. She turned the page and felt the pull of time, taking her far away from danger.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Jack’s Journal: The First Time
     
    ‘The only thing keeping me going in this damn place is the ability to release you onto these pages Nell. So here’s to page one of us.’
     
    The summer of 1938, had been one of tense rising emotions. The whole country was on the brink of going to war. And I, like my three older brothers, John, Jimmy, and Colin, was ready to pick up the gauntlet and do my bit. They had already gone. Signed up and left in the big fancy parade that passed through Elham village, Kent.
    Every civilian turned out to wave off the heroes of our nation. And even though I begged my mum to let me go with them, she wanted me to stay a while longer. The reason soon became clear when the rents collector came, and we were short by half a month’s payment. My poor worn-out mum, couldn’t raise the extra. And my dad, well, he was about as useless as a drunk could be. So it was agreed, without my consent, that I would pay off our debt by working up at the Haughton Estate, tending to the stables. And my first day, just happen to be on my eighteenth birthday.
    I didn’t know much of the privileged that lived up there back then. Only that main man was a Brigadier in the Army, who liked to charge those who lived on his land a small fortune to dwell in one of his poky cold farmhouses. And his daughter, Eleanor Haughton, I’d seen only once, the back of her head as she galloped by on her horse. I quickly came to the conclusion, she was completely spoilt and had never worked a day in her life. She wouldn’t know struggle if it hit her in the face with a mallet, or so I thought.
    “Okay Son.” Mum wiped her hands on her tatty floral dress, and pinched my cheek. “Make sure you show them what a good worker you are.”
    “Mum, I’ll be fine.” I rolled my eyes at my dad, snoring like a wild boar in his chair. “Someone has to do it, and it ain’t going to be that bone idol nitwit.”
    “Oh love,” she cooed at me. “Make some girl the perfect husband you will.”
    “Who’ll look after you then?” I smiled, pulling on my cap. “Wake that berk up, and tell him to make a start on that ploughing that field.”
    My dear old Mum was a saint, and had to put up with a hell of a lot looking after a house full of men. The rowdy wrestling, the filth, and the drunken misadventures of my miserable Dad. It was only I who could see how tiresome she found it. But no matter what, she made sure we had food on the table. I don’t know how she did it sometimes. The things she could do with a few spuds, would blow your mind. ‘All in the seasoning,’ she would say.
    I never saw her once take ten minutes for herself. She would potter around the kitchen all day: scrubbing our muddy boots, darning our socks, and wiping things down. It wasn’t surprising she was as skinny as a rake. The woman never sat still.     
    I left Mum to deal with my comatose Dad (who had been drinking his home brew all night) and made my way across the sun scorched golden fields, watching the grand house come into view. It was so warm that day, and at only seven in the morning. I knew it was going to get a lot warmer, and smellier. Steaming piles horse muck and summer sun- not a great combination.
    I arrived at the stables, cap in hand, looking out for the charge hand who was supposed to meet me. I waited on the cobbles a good five minutes, but no one turned up. The brick stable block was at the back of the house, and every one of the six green gates were closed. I could hear movement inside, so I decided to try the side door to see if anyone was in there.
    As I opened, I came face to face with a right beauty. A stallion, tan in colour, with a defined muscle tone that would rival the greatest racers. He was huge, with black glossy straight hair that hung down by his muscular neck. And his