Hardacre's Luck (The Hardacre Family Saga Book 2) by CL Skelton

Author:CL Skelton [Skelton, CL]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: families, 1950s, family saga, Yorkshire saga, nostalgia, historical fiction, brothers and sisters
Publisher: Wyndham Books (Family Saga)
Published: 2015-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

From Hull, Sam drove directly to Hardacres rather than returning home to his flat in Bridlington. He had been nine days away in all, and in his new peace of mind he was suddenly aware again of duty to family. He could hardly credit, much less justify, that he had actually gone off by sea to Norway without telling anyone where he was going or when he’d be back. He wanted to see his mother and offer her the comfort he had failed to offer her before, and to see Harry and reassure him. That they had worried about him was something he could not have failed to realize, but until now he had been unable to care.

He was driving one of their lorries, a big grey monster of a thing, which he had liberated in rather cavalier fashion at the dockside in Hull, leaving a grumbling Mick and Pete to make their way back crammed into the other with half the crew. He had as yet no car of his own, and had not even considered replacing or repairing the Jaguar. He simply did not wish to see it and doubted he’d ever feel differently. It was dark when he made the Driffield road, but as he approached the black iron gates of Hardacres, which had stood open so long that he had always rather doubted they’d move, he was amazed to see them not only shut but padlocked and, more shockingly, firmly defended by two officers of the law. A police vehicle and several other cars were parked awkwardly along the narrow roadway. For an instant, the sight of the cluster of hurriedly parked vehicles, and the turning blue light, brought back wrenching memories of the accident, and he found his hands suddenly shaky on the wheel of the big lorry. But the moment passed and, with it, the nerves. There was something reassuringly casual about the stance of the constables at the gate, one of whom was chatting with a man in a trench coat. And the small crowd of onlookers, mostly men, mostly dressed the same as the constable’s companion, in trench coats, against the light July rain, had nothing of the grim air of the scene of a tragedy.

Sam slowed the lorry and brought it to a halt in front of the gate, and sat staring. One of the constables straightened up from his comfortable slouch against the wrought iron and strolled across to Sam. Sam lowered the window with difficulty; the lorry was not in pristine condition.

‘Can I help you, mate?’

‘Yes, please,’ Sam said, glancing at the gate. ‘I’d like to get in, for a start.’

‘Sorry mate, no chance.’

‘What?’ Sam only half-smiled; he was tired, and it was late and, whatever was going on, he didn’t really feel like being delayed. ‘What’s happened?’ he said then, getting concerned again. ‘Has there been an accident?’

‘Nothing to worry about, mate. Just a private family matter. You just move along now, and come back tomorrow.’

The constable stepped back authoritatively, and gave him a businesslike wave down the road.

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