Three Letters Page 2

The men collected their wage packets and left one by one, some for home, some to make their way down to the pub.

  The last person to collect his wages was Tom Denton.

  ‘What’s bothering you, Tom lad?’ Bill had promised himself that he wouldn’t ask again, but he didn’t like seeing Tom so troubled. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, and today you’ve been miles away in your thoughts. Is there anything I can do?’

  Tom forced a smile. ‘Like I said, I promised the boy. And … well, I’ve got things to do, you know how it is.’

  That was no lie. And they were important things, too long neglected.

  For what seemed an age, the older man studied Tom. He was saddened to see how Tom’s ready smile never quite reached his eyes, and how he occasionally glanced towards the door like a man trapped. ‘I’m concerned about you,’ Bill admitted.

  ‘You’ve no need to be.’

  ‘Mebbe, mebbe not, but I want you to know … if you’ve got worries gnawing at you, I’d like to help if I can.’

  Tom gave a weary little grin. ‘Show me a man who hasn’t got worries gnawing at him, but I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.’

  ‘Just remember then, lad, I’m here if you need to talk. You can trust me. I hope you know I’m not a man to blab about other folks’ business.’

  ‘I know. But like I say, I’m fine.’

  In truth, Tom was desperate to confide in someone – his foreman, his own father – but it would not change the situation. Because they could not help him, however much they might want to.

  Thanking Bill once again for his concern, he bade him good night.

  When Bill heard the outer door bang shut, he went across to the window and looked out into the rainy street. ‘Why, in God’s name, do you put up with her, Tom, lad?’ he muttered. ‘She’s a bad lot. You’d be better off without her … you and Casey both.’ He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘If you ask me, it’s high time you took your boy, and cleared off out of it!’

  He continued to watch as Tom pulled down his flat cap, turned up his coat collar and hurried away.

  Bill’s mind was still on Tom, as he carried out a tour of the factory, checking that everything was safe and secure. It’s a pity he ever met that damned woman, he thought angrily. She’s like a bitch on heat, and I for one would never put up with it … not for love nor money.’

  He glanced out the window, but Tom was long gone. ‘He’s a decent sort,’ he muttered to himself, as he turned off the many lights. ‘The lad deserves better.’

  Hurrying along the street, Tom was deep in thought. Having carefully examined the situation for the umpteenth time, he was convinced he had made the right decision for everyone concerned. Even so, he felt no satisfaction or joy; only guilt.

  He hurried on. When the tears rolled down his face, he brushed them away. Don’t you falter now, Tom, he softly chided himself. You know in your heart there is no other way.

  ‘MAM!’

  Having run up the stairs, the boy was about to open the bedroom door when he heard his mother yell out, ‘Casey, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. ‘The door’s stuck.’ He gave it another shove but it stayed fast.

  ‘Stop pushing on it!’ Ruth yelled back. ‘I’ve locked it. I don’t want folks bursting into my room when I’m changing.’

  Buxom and shapely, with flowing brown hair, and dark eyes, Ruth Denton was an attractive woman, except for her narrow lips and whiney voice.

  ‘Stop being a damned nuisance,’ she warned, ‘or you’ll feel the back of my hand across yer arse!’

  ‘You said we were having fish and chips tonight. If you give me some money, I’ll go and get them.’

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘But it’s ten past five. Dad’ll be home soon.’ He tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Get away from that door, and wait downstairs. I’ll not be long.’

  ‘That’s what you always say, and you still take ages.’ Putting his back to the door, Casey slid down into a crouched position. Slightly built, with thick brown hair and dark, striking eyes, he had his father’s kindly nature. ‘Mam?’

  ‘I thought I told you to clear off.’

  ‘Has the man gone?’

  ‘What man?’ Panic marbled her voice. ‘What are yer talking about? There’s no man ’ere!’

  ‘No, I mean just before, when I came up the street, I saw a man at the door. I thought you’d let him in.’

  She gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Oh, that man? O’ course I didn’t let him in. I sent him packing.’

  ‘Did you? But I never saw him go.’ Casey’s instincts told him she was lying, and it wouldn’t be for the first time.

  ‘Just do as yer told!’ Ignoring his comment about ‘the man’, she softened her voice. ‘Go down now, Casey. I’ll be there directly with money for the fish an’ chips.’

  There followed a long pause, causing her to believe he’d gone.

  ‘Little sod! He’s eight years old, going on eighty!’ Snuggling up to the man’s naked body, Ruth ran her fingers down his neck. ‘I were counting on the two of us having a good hour together, and now he’s gone and ruined it.’

  The man reached out and tweaked her erect nipple. ‘Aw, well,’ he sighed, ‘next time, mebbe. When the brat’s at school.’

  ‘MAM!’

  ‘For pity’s sake, I told yer to go downstairs!’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  ‘Nobody!’

  ‘I thought I heard somebody.’

  ‘Well, that were probably me, talking to myself, like a crazy woman. It’s you that sends me crazy, allus hanging about, spying on me at every turn. Do like I say and sod off downstairs.’

  ‘There’s nothing to do.’

  ‘Well … find summat to do. Clean your dad’s guitar, if you want. Just busy yerself till I come down.’

  ‘But I need you to come down now. I need to get the fish and chips. Dad’ll be hungry.’

  ‘By, yer a persistent little git, aren’t yer, eh?’ Grabbing her shoe from the floor, she threw it at the door, where it landed with a thump. ‘I’ll not tell you again! Just get off out of it. D’you hear me?’

  ‘Can I really clean Dad’s guitar?’

  She hesitated. ‘Well, yeah … I expect so.’ She knew how much that guitar meant to Tom. His own father had taught him to play it when he was even younger than Casey was now.

  Some years ago, when his father contracted arthritis in his fingers and couldn’t play it any more, he handed the guitar down to Tom.

  ‘Take good care of it, lad,’ Tom had told her many times of what his father had said, ‘When you play, you must open your heart to its magic. Listen to what it tells you, and you’ll be repaid tenfold.’

  On teaching his own son how to play it, Tom told Casey of his grandfather’s words, and Casey had never forgotten them.

  He recalled them now. ‘Mam, I’ll go downstairs, but if I polish the guitar, can I play it afterwards … please?’

  ‘YES! I don’t give a bugger what you do with the thing. So long as yer don’t keep botherin’ me. It doesn’t make money, and it doesn’t put food on the table, and sometimes when your father’s down there playing till all hours, we can none of us get any sleep. That blessed guitar is for neither use nor ornament. As far as I’m concerned, yer can tek it to the pop-shop. Tell old Foggarty he can have it for a few quid.’

  The boy was shocked to his roots. ‘You can’t say that! It’s Dad’s guitar, not yours!’

  When there was no response, he waited a moment, pressing his ear to the door. He thought he heard someone sniggering, and it didn’t sound like his mam. Now, though, in the ensuing silence, he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘You won’t be long before you come down, will you, Mam?’

  He was greeted with silence.

  ‘I’m going down now, Mam, but I need to go to the chip shop. All right?’

  The silence thickened.r />
  ‘MAM!’ He couldn’t get her suggestion out of his mind. ‘You wouldn’t really take Dad’s guitar to Foggarty’s, would you?’

  ‘I bloody would! I’ll tek you, an’ all, if you don’t get away from that door!’ The impact of a second object being hurled at the door made Casey back off.

  Concerned by her threat to sell his dad’s guitar to old Foggarty, he kicked the door with the toe of his shoe, and ran off down the stairs. A smile crept across his face at the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. Then he thought of his mother, and the smile fell away.

  Deep down, he knew his mam had no love for his dad, and that was not fair, because he worked hard to give her everything; to give them both everything.

  He recalled the man he had seen outside the door. He couldn’t help but wonder if the man really had been allowed inside the house. But if that was true, where was he now?

  When the dark suspicions crept into his thoughts, he thrust them away and concentrated on the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. He remembered everything he’d been taught, and now he went through it all in his mind. When he played the guitar, the music was in his head and in his heart. When Casey listened to his own music, he felt incredibly happy, happier than at any other time. It was magic, feeling the smooth wood, warm and alive, against him. When he moved his fingers along the strings and the guitar began to sing, it was so hauntingly beautiful, it made him want to cry.

  He had told his dad how he felt, and his dad explained, ‘That’s because the guitar is speaking to you, bringing your senses alive. Music is an age-old language. It speaks to everyone, young and old. It lifts the spirit and touches the heart, and when it stops it lives on inside you, making you richer in mind and spirit.’

  Casey understood. Daddy made it all so easy to understand. He adored his dad, but sometimes he didn’t like his mam. She shouted a lot, and she told lies. Just now, she said he could play the guitar, but only because she wanted him to go away. But why did she want him to go away? Why couldn’t she just come down and give him the fish-and-chip money.

  At the back of his mind, he knew why, but it was such an awful thing, he didn’t even want to think about it.

  Instead he made himself think of playing the guitar, and he was filled with such excitement, he could hardly breathe.

  He now ran into the front parlour and closed the door behind him. He was happy in here, especially when he was allowed to play the guitar. Mam could shout and scream all she liked, but he wouldn’t listen.

  ‘We’re rid of him at last.’ Lying across Len’s nakedness, Ruth tantalised him, licking his mouth with the tip of her tongue. ‘We’d best be quick, Len!’ With the minutes swiftly passing, she was growing nervous.

  ‘Stop panicking. There’s time enough.’ He was enjoying the foreplay.

  ‘There isn’t time,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t have Tom finding us naked in his bedroom. Can you imagine the ructions if he found his wife and best mate wrestling about in his bed?’

  Hearing a noise outside the bedroom, she sat back on her haunches. ‘Ssh! What was that?’ She glanced nervously towards the door. ‘If we’re not careful, he’ll be bursting in here, any minute.’

  She had no real affection for Tom. He was not an exciting man, while she was a woman who positively thrived on excitement. She liked the thrill of the chase, and she enjoyed the attention of other men, even though she knew they were only after one thing – which they got in abundance, and paid for in ready cash. Steady, affable Tom hardly ever made demands on her, but that was his loss, not hers.

  The thing was, she liked her men feisty, willing to take risks and grab life by the horns. Tom was not like that. He was, however, a good provider, and an excellent father to Casey, while she had no time for the brat. If it hadn’t been for Tom looking after his wellbeing, Casey would be left to his own devices.

  Thankfully, Tom was always there for Casey, and the boy idolised him. They each had the same interests, in music and football, and in creative things. They had made a den in the cellar, every wall painted a different colour and every square inch of the ceiling carefully pinned with cut-out pictures of aeroplanes all heading the same way, as though in a mass exodus.

  They spent precious time together down there, talking music, playing the guitar, making the cellar into a wonderland.

  Whenever they tried to include her, she didn’t want to know. The one time Tom and Casey managed to persuade her down to the cellar, she ridiculed their efforts and couldn’t get out quick enough.

  Ruth realised her jealousy of the happy childhood Tom was trying to provide for Casey was because of her own impoverished childhood.

  Still, Tom was a good father to Casey, and when some years ago she had been in a desperate situation Tom had unwittingly proved to be a godsend.

  Thinking of Tom now, she smiled to herself. If only he knew what she was doing right now. And who with. Oh, but it would give her so much pleasure to shock him with the truth. But what if the truth damaged her more than it damaged him? Still, the thought of Tom walking in on her and Len gave her a shiver of wicked delight.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ Reaching up, Len grabbed her by the buttocks and roughly drew her closer to him. Unlike Len, Tom had never been, nor ever would be, man enough for her.

  ‘I’m smiling at you …’ She answered, ‘at the pair of us being together like this.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Also aware that Tom could burst in at any minute, Len concentrated on the matter in hand, while Ruth’s devious mind inevitably strayed back to Tom.

  In all the years she’d known him, Tom had never done her wrong, and she believed he never would. But if it was not for her shady sideline she felt her life would be unbearable. Even so, she was happy in the knowledge that when she grew unattractive, and the men who excited her were gone, Tom would still be there to provide for her.

  Right now, though, she gave herself freely to the men who used her yet had no real feelings for her. Len in particular could take her to dizzy heights, the like of which she had never experienced with her undemanding husband.

  ‘Ssh! Did you hear that? It sounds like there’s somebody out there.’

  ‘There’s nobody out there. It’s the birds on the roof, or summat. Or it’s the kid playing games to wind yer up. Yeah, that’ll be it. If yer ask me, that lad o’ yours wants keeping in check! If ’e were mine I’d give ’im a right slap. Irritating little bastard.’

  ‘Hey!’ she giggled. ‘If you’re itching to slap somebody, why don’t you slap me?’ Grabbing his hand from her breast, she clamped it over her buttocks.

  He liked that. ‘Yer a wicked bitch, Ruth Denton, a woman who’d sell herself for a shilling.’ He sniggered. ‘If Tom ever upped and left, I wouldn’t be surprised if you flogged the kid to the highest bidder.’

  She chuckled. ‘It wouldn’t bother me to be rid of the brat,’ she confessed. ‘Come to think of it, old Foggarty might pay me more for him than he’d pay for that damned guitar!’ She gave a low, throaty cackle. ‘I’m sure the old devil would find a good use for the boy … one way or another.’ Sometimes the nastiness in her took even her by surprise.

  Rolling her over, Len climbed on top, biting and caressing her neck and giving of himself in such a way that the passion became too strong for him to hold back.

  Afterwards, when he rolled away from her, he told her, ‘Yer a bad example to women, you are. In times past, you’d ’ave been tarred and feathered. To tell the truth, I don’t know how poor Tom puts up with yer.’

  He meant it too. Having worked alongside Tom for a good many years, he knew what a decent sort he was. He even felt a pang of guilt.

  Ruth gave him a playful slap. ‘Hey! What’s all this about “poor Tom”? Forget him! All I need to know is … did you get yer money’s worth?’

  His answer was to grab her about the waist and roughly draw her to him. ‘You certainly know how to please a man,’ he admitted. ‘Matter o’ fact, I might even go for another helping. What d’ye
r say, eh?’

  ‘It’ll cost yer.’ She giggled, snaking her arms round his neck.

  Headed home, Tom was deep in thought, his face dampened by the drizzle and his mind alive with thoughts of what he’d decided.

  It was a moment before he realised that he’d actually walked right past the bus stop. Turning to go back, he was dismayed to see the bus had already set off. ‘Dammit!’ That would put another half-hour onto the journey home.

  No matter. At least he now had more time to think, and to plan. There must be no regrets, and he must make sure that the boy was safe. That, above all else, was the important thing.

  When the slight rainfall became a real downpour, he quickened his steps through the town to King Street, where he saw the queue in the fish-and-chip shop. When the aroma drifted towards him, his stomach began rumbling.

  I wonder if Ruth’s cooked us a meal, he thought, quickening his pace towards the lights of the chip shop. I bet she hasn’t. I bet our Casey’s not been fed … again.

  Countless times he’d got home to find that Ruth was out and Casey was searching the cupboard for food. Keeping house and seeing to the boy’s welfare were never his wife’s priorities.

  He ducked into the fish-and-chip shop. When his turn came, he ordered, ‘Fish and chips three times, please.’

  ‘Got caught out in the rain, did yer?’ The woman had a round, rosy face and a kindly voice, much like his own mother, who had died shortly before he’d married Ruth. Suddenly, Tom wondered if his mother, looking down, would be ashamed at his plans. He truly hoped not.

  He forced a smile. ‘The rain’s coming down hard,’ he remarked. ‘I reckon it’ll settle in for the night now.’ He found it amazing how he could converse so casually about something and nothing, when he was intent on a deed so dark and drastic that lives would be changed for ever.

  The woman dished the food into the paper bags. ‘D’yer want salt and vinegar, young man?’

  ‘Yeah … go on then, but not too much, eh?’

  ‘Have yer far to go wi’ these?’

  ‘Only to Henry Street.’

  ‘Hmm! That’s still a good long stride an’ no mistake.’ She regarded him with interest. Seeing how wet he was, and how sad he seemed, she suggested, ‘You go and sit yersel’ in that chair over by the window. I’ll put these on the fryer to keep warm, then I’ll mek yer a pot o’ tea … no charge, mind. It’s on the house.’