The Broken Man by Josephine Cox Page A

don’t worry. It’s like an old soldier. It’s been patched up before and it’ll be patched up again. Meantime, I’ll have to stop gadding about and save a few shillings every week until I’ve got enough to get it put right.’
    ‘OK, so I’ll pick you up in what … an hour?’
    ‘I’ll be ready in half an hour.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Anne knew from experience how long it took Sally to get ready, and by the sounds of it, she had only just got out of bed.
    ‘I’ll be ready, don’t worry.’

    ‘Right!’ Growing excited, Anne resumed her humming as she swiftly cleared away the last of the breakfast things. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was already half-past eight. ‘Crikey! I’d best get a move on.’ It was a fifteen-minute drive to Kempston where Sally lived, and at this time on a Saturday the roads could be busy.
    Having tidied the kitchen, she made sure the back door was locked and bolted before running upstairs and into the bathroom. She quickly cleaned her teeth, ruffled her fine blonde hair and ran back downstairs; grabbing her coat and bag as she went out the front door.
    As always, whenever leaving the house, she made doubly sure that the front door was secured. She then glanced up at the bedroom windows to satisfy herself that they were closed. For good reason, she had learned over the years to keep her wits about her as far as her own security was concerned.
    These days, though, she was slightly less paranoid than she had been on first arriving in this quiet backstreet many years ago. Even so, the bad memories and a dark, nagging fear that Edward Carter might find her still lurked at the back of her mind.
    Clambering into her beloved Morris Minor, she slammed shut the door and then checked through her handbag. She opened her purse: three pound and six shillings, more than enough.
    Next she drew out a stick of rouge and a powder compact. She looked at her reflection in the compact mirror while she dabbed a little make-up over her cheekbones. ‘Anne Wyman, you’re no oil painting, but you’re all you’ve got, so you’ll have to do!’ she muttered to herself. Retrieving her lipstick from her handbag, she painted her full, plump mouth with the pale pink lipstick.
    She then returned the items to her handbag, started the engine, checked for oncoming traffic, and drew away from the kerb.
    At the top of Roff Avenue, she slowed and checked in the driver’s mirror. Her eyes were instantly drawn to a tall, dark-haired figure heading away towards the far end of Roff Avenue. He was walking slowly, almost strolling. He seemed nervous, his head turning this way and that, as though searching for something or someone.
    Anne’s heart skipped a beat. She could hardly breathe. ‘Stop that!’ she chided herself. The past is long behind you.
    The man was out of sight now and, with an irate driver honking his car horn behind her, Anne shifted into gear and drew away.
    Some short distance down the road, she pulled over and switched the engine off. Wrapping her trembling fingers around the steering wheel, she gripped it so tight her knuckles turned white.
    ‘Pull yourself together, girl!’
    She reminded herself that this was not the first time she’d imagined he was actually in her street searching for her. And each time she’d been wrong.
    After a few minutes, feeling calmer, she restarted the engine and set off again. By now, there was no sight of the man who had truly unnerved her.

    Edward Carter was in a foul mood. Having been up and down the back alley, peeking into yards and hanging about, he had still not been able to catch sight of her. He knew the house was in this street. He’d seen the address in the past enough damned times to know he’d got the right place. Roff Avenue, Bedford.
    Unkempt and agitated, he had been on the run far too long. He needed a place to hide to keep his head down for a while. He had a plan, and it involved Anne Wyman, the girl he had married all those years ago.