Three Letters Read online

From somewhere amongst the drinkers a cry went up, ‘He did, an’ all! David McGreggor was a name to be reckoned with. In his time.’

  ‘Sit down, David.’ Steve gestured to the chair beside him, ‘Let’s you and me call a truce, eh?’

  ‘Never!’ The old Scotsman ran a discerning eye over this quiet stranger, the only man who had ever dipped his hand in his pocket to buy him a drink. ‘All right then, but don’t you mess with me. I can be lethal when I’m roused.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  So, they sat together in silence, drinking their drinks, with David occasionally giving him sideways glances, while Steve pretended not to notice.

  Some musicians arrived and the customers cheered. A few minutes later, the four young men set up on a makeshift stage beside the bar, and began tuning up.

  ‘That takes me back,’ Steve said. ‘When I was their age, me and the boys would travel from Land’s End to John o’Groats, just to make a few bob.’

  After taking a long sip of his drink, David replaced the glass on the table. ‘What? You mean you were a musician?’

  ‘We were a group of four … two guitarists – one of whom could even throw a song together – and a pianist and a drummer.’

  ‘Which one were you?’

  Steve gave a modest little smile. ‘I was the guitarist who could throw a song together.’

  ‘Huh!’ David was beginning to warm to this stranger. ‘I once had a yen to play the drums, but I soon got over it,’ he chuckled. ‘I went bus driving instead. Did it for twenty-five years and never once regretted it.’

  ‘Good for you. That’s what life is all about, doing what you enjoy.’

  ‘What kind o’ songs d’you sing?’

  ‘Oh, let me see … easy ballads, country stuff, all that. But at that time the music scene was beginning to change. The songs took on a different mood. The new entertainers were getting braver, looking for new challenges; attracting a new, younger and very different kind of audience. Musicians were more adventurous, more show business like.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘And now it’s all changed again, with a whole spectrum of different tastes. Even so I don’t think I’d be too out of step in the current market … if I was younger, that is.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it while it lasted?’

  ‘Sure.’ Steve gave a quiet little smile. ‘They were good times.’

  ‘I expect the girls were all over you, eh?’

  ‘You could say that, but we were always moving on. There one minute and gone the next … ships that pass in the night, as they say.’

  ‘So …’ the older man gave a drunken little hiccup, ‘… there was never anyone special, then?’

  Inevitably, Steve thought of Ruth. ‘There was one.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Ruth. Funny, though, I never did learn her surname.’

  ‘So, it never went anywhere then … you and her, making it permanent, like?’

  Steve turned to him with a smile. ‘You want to know a lot, don’t you? Are you usually this nosy?’

  ‘You’re right, I am a nosy bugger. I’ll tell you what, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘All this talking’s got me parched.’

  ‘Me too.’ Discreetly digging into his pocket Steve handed the other man a crisp note. ‘If you get them, I’ll pay.’ After talking about Ruth, he felt melancholy, wanting to keep her in his mind, if only for a short time.

  ‘Done!’ Taking the note, the little fella went off towards the bar.

  Just then the music struck up, and halfway across the room, David started dancing, making everyone clap and shout. ‘I hope you don’t think you’re getting paid for that?’ somebody yelled. Then a woman’s voice rang out, ‘I’ll give him a bob or two, but only if he strips off.’

  ‘You might regret saying that!’ Winking at her, David pulled up his shirt and showed his bare belly, then he swung his hips and gyrated his way to the bar. When everyone clapped and whistled, he gave an exaggerated bow.

  ‘If you want paying, we’ll need to see more than your bare belly!’ the woman teased.

  He gave her a wink but, with her husband sitting beside her, he thought it wise to leave the merriment there.

  Juggling a pint and a glass of whisky, he made his way back to Steve. ‘There’s not much change,’ he told him. ‘I reckon I should keep it for my troubles.’

  Steve agreed and was rewarded with a handshake and a question.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Steve.’

  ‘OK, Steve, so who was this bonny woman – Ruth, wasn’t it? One of them “ships that passed in the night”, was she?’

  ‘Sort of, I suppose.’

  ‘You liked her, I can tell.’ Leaning towards Steve, he asked quietly, ‘Fell for her hook, line and sinker, did you?’

  ‘You ask too many questions, old man. Give it a rest, eh?’

  ‘Aha!’ David chuckled. ‘I knew it. You fell for her, then she walked out on you, and now you’re kicking yourself because she’s the one that got away. Am I right?’

  ‘I’ll have you know, I’m a married man.’

  ‘You’re not happy, though, are you?’

  ‘Is anyone?’

  ‘I am! ’Cause I haven’t got a harlot nagging at me from morning to night.’ He nudged Steve with his arm. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I were you, I’d dump that wife o’ yours, and find the one that got away.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you’re unhappy. Don’t waste your life with one woman, when it’s the other one you’re after. We only ever get one life, as far as we know, so grab it with both hands before it’s too late.’

  A moment later David had nipped back to the bar for a refill when a cry went up. ‘Is there a Steve in the house?’

  When his name rang out, Steve was startled. ‘What have you done, you old bugger?’ He suspected the old man was up to mischief.

  ‘Over here!’ The little fella stood up. ‘Here he is, ready and waiting!’ He tugged Steve by the arm. ‘Go on! Here’s your chance to show these people what you’ve got.’ He yelled out, ‘He’s on his way!’ And Steve was left with no choice but to accept the challenge.

  Secretly, though, he was excited as he climbed onto the makeshift stage, and when he was given the guitar, he felt like a young man again.

  ‘What’s the song?’ the keyboard player asked.

  ‘Do you know “Are you Lonesome Tonight”?’ Steve had not played or sung on stage for many years, but he knew what an audience liked and the song suited his mood.

  ‘Returning to his keyboard, the young man briefly consulted with the other players who, like him, were not sure what they’d let themselves in for.

  A moment later they were ready. Steve was introduced, and the silence in the room was palpable. Bowing his head, Steve momentarily closed his eyes and got into the mood. Leaning into the microphone, he struck the first chord and started to sing, his voice strong and sure; trembling with emotion as he sang from the heart. The silence thickened as people put down their drinks to listen and enjoy. As his low, velvet voice wended its way through those memorable words, they felt the emotion. They knew the loneliness of that particular song, and hearts were heavy.

  Behind him, the other players looked at each other in astonishment. When the old fellow had asked the favour, they were concerned they might be lumbered with a drunk who just wanted a singalong. But they were amazed at this talented man who had got the audience in the palm of his hand.

  When the song ended, people were on their feet, clapping and shouting for more. Deeply moved, Steve thanked both them and the players, and graciously stepped down.

  ‘Jeez! You really can play the guitar, and that voice of yours could earn you a fortune … even now!’ David had originally doubted this man’s sincerity, but now he was impressed. ‘You should take it up again. You’re not a bad-looker, and you had this lot eating outta your hands.
’

  ‘I’ve moved on,’ Steve told him. ‘I was part of the up-front scene once,’ he said, ‘but I’m older and wiser now, with a whole new dream.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s that then?’

  ‘Just a dream,’ he answered. ‘A dream that hopefully might soon become a reality.’

  ‘Oh, well, I reckon we should drink to that.’

  ‘You sit still. I’ll get them in.’

  Surprised that he was leaving so soon, the bartender promised, ‘I’ll make sure he gets home all right, don’t you worry.’ He kept safe the taxi fare Steve had given him for David.

  Steve fished a couple of notes out of his wallet. ‘Don’t let him use this up too fast. String it out as best you can, for his sake.’

  ‘You’ve obviously taken to David, as we all have. But you don’t really know him, do you?’ the bartender asked.

  ‘I know he’s a good man, and a rascal,’ Steve chuckled. ‘That’s enough for me. Look after him, eh?’

  ‘I always do.’ The bartender watched him walk away. Seems like you’re a good man too, he thought. A bit sad … a bit private. But a good man all the same.

  Turning away, he poured out the whisky then made his way towards David, who was busy chatting to the man on the next table.

  Having collected his coat, Steve looked back. He saw the little fella, obviously enjoying the conversation with the man on the next table, and when he heard David’s raucous laugh, he smiled and shook his head. Then he saw the bartender leaning forward to speak to David. Just then, the little fellow turned his head, and looked straight at Steve. When Steve raised a hand in farewell, David did the same, albeit with some reluctance.

  As Steve went out the door, he heard the racking cough, which concerned him; then the raucous laughter, which did his heart good. ‘Give up the smokes, David,’ he chuckled, ‘and you won’t go far wrong.’

  One thing was for sure he would not forget the lively little Scotsman in a hurry. If there had been more time, he might well have frequented the bar again tomorrow.

  But for now, he had things to do, places to go, and people to see.

  But as he walked away, it was the young girl he had loved and left years ago who occupied his thoughts.

  Outside on the pavement, Steve stood a moment; so many thoughts racing through his mind. Thoughts of regrets and happiness, and of dreams not yet fulfilled. Thoughts of his younger days and the years in between, and the realisation of how quickly the years had flown by. One minute you were in your twenties, wild and carefree, playing the field and enjoying life, the next, you’re a married man with responsibilities.

  His heart was laden with regrets as he thought of his life with the woman he’d married. Did he love her? No. Did he respect her. No. They had drifted into a kind of understanding. Sometimes over the years there had been special, tender moments, although, looking back, there was nothing very memorable.

  Although he’d had many chances, he had never been unfaithful and, as far as he knew, Connie had not been unfaithful to him. She understood him better than anyone, and while she had no interest in his music, and would never accompany him on his trips, she had always encouraged him to pursue his dreams. For that, at least, he owed her a degree of loyalty.

  He looked up and down the street, to see couples arm in arm, chatting and laughing, and his heart was heavy. How long had it been since he and his wife had laughed together like that? He shook his head. Too long.

  He suddenly realised that, even though he was often surrounded by people, his life had been somewhat lonely. He felt a surge of regret: ‘What I wouldn’t give, just to turn back the clock.’

  When the night air bit into him, he shivered, quickly buttoned up his overcoat, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked on.

  He had little idea where he was headed, or how long he might walk. For now, it was enough for him to be alone and quiet, to clear his thoughts and draw the shutters against the past. Soon he must get back to the hotel. Not least because, his dear sister-in-law was sure to be waiting there, with a barrage of questions.

  After a while he turned off the backstreet and found himself on a wide open street with shops on either side. There was a pretty little bridge, which he now crossed. On the other side stood a grand old cinema. Its lights were on but there was no sign of people. In truth, there were very few people about in this part of town.

  Following the path right up to the top, he saw it was busier here, with traffic and people, and the sound of music emanating from the pub on the corner. He smiled. It seemed every street had a lamp-post on one corner and a pub on the other.

  Drawn to the pub, he crossed the road. He wondered if he should go inside and drown his worries, but his mood was not in keeping with the loud, merry laughter he could hear. He decided just to keep walking until he felt so tired, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep.

  After walking on for a few minutes more, he paused to admire a church in the square he was passing through. The strong, meticulously sculpted lines gave it such proud character. Appreciating things fine and beautiful, he could not help but wonder about the mind and hand that had designed such a magnificent structure.

  A cutting sense of disappointment made him question his own feeble endeavours. What had he actually done with his life? What great feat had he achieved that would leave his mark on the world? Where was he headed? What were his true ambitions? Also, when and if he ever achieved those ambitions, would they even be worthy of his time and effort?

  Compared to the person who had created strength and beauty in that wonderful church, he thought himself unworthy, and undeserving.

  He walked on into a much busier area of town, with people milling about. There were sweethearts strolling arm in arm, laughing together; and revellers, chattering and singing as they spilled out of the pubs and clubs, onto the streets.

  A number of people headed for the boulevard where they climbed aboard the buses, while others hurried towards the grand Victorian railway station beyond.

  Within minutes, the spill of people had diminished, the chatter and the singing died down. Soon the streets appeared almost deserted except for a few merry young folk, unsteady on their feet and unsure which direction they should go.

  Steve went in search of a taxi. Disappointed to see a long queue at the taxi rank, he thought his best chance of acquiring a lift to his hotel was to carry on walking, and board a taxi further down the street.

  Wondering down a narrow side street, away from the brightly lit boulevard, his thoughts turned to the viewings tomorrow, and the possibility that at long last he might be on the verge of achieving his cherished ambition.

  Sadly, even if his long-held dream was finally realised, his wife would show little interest. He had no children either, and who knew, they might have followed him into the music industry. Not having children was a real thorn in his side, and even if they hadn’t followed the music profession, it would not have mattered. Only now, did he realise how truly lonely he was.

  Some distance away from where Steve had first sought a taxi, Ruth stopped to rest. She found herself on a street that was softly lit, and quiet. Hopefully she might find a deep doorway, where she could maybe catch a wink or two, before moving on.

  She soon located a suitable place. It was a large Victorian house, with a wooden sign fixed to the wall.

  Marilyn’s Place

  BED AND BREAKFAST

  ALSO LONG-TERM BOARDERS

  (Professional only)

  Suitable terms – Enquire inside

  Ruth was relieved to see that the porch was unlit though there was a soft light above the sign, and another light shining from a bedroom window on the upper level.

  Leaning forward, she could see that the big wood-panelled front door was closed. The street was empty, though from somewhere nearby there was music and voices raised in song. But that was usual round these backstreets; especially on a late evening. She was not concerned. It was just some pub turning out reluctant booze
rs who had overstayed their welcome. More importantly and for her own safety, there was no pub on this particular street.

  Reminding herself that it was the kind of quiet night that carried music and voices from a way off, she believed she was safe enough here, for the time being.

  Bone-tired and longing to lay down her head, she promised herself that here, in that dark, deep porch, she would be comfortable, at least till daybreak. So she crept into the dark recess of the porch and settled herself down.

  When the cold, hard flagstones beneath her struck bitterly cold, she drew her arms inward, out of the long sleeves of her jumper. That done, she clumsily wrapped the loosely hanging sleeves tight about her neck and shoulders, while pulling down and tucking in the body of the jumper itself, wherever possible. Folding her legs beneath her, she then curled into a ball.

  Finding the brick walls cold and hard against her back, she shifted herself further into the corner, with her body resting between the wall and the door, which made for a more comfortable position.

  Wary of any danger, she took a moment to listen for approaching strangers. But there was only silence and darkness, both of which eased her mind.

  Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to sleep, but, as on every night since she’d left Henry Street, her sleep was neither deep, nor restful.

  Instead, it was a shallow, uneasy sleep, in which her dreams constantly reminded of the destructive events that had brought her here, to this.

  Steve was hopelessly lost. Having strayed from the main streets, he was now anxious, and keeping a sharp lookout for a telephone box from which to call for a taxi.

  Eventually he spotted a red telephone box beneath a streetlamp on a corner.

  Inside, he fumbled through his jacket pockets for loose change.

  The first call was to ask the operator for the number of a taxi firm, which he scribbled down on the back of his hand.

  The second call was to Connie at their home in Finchley. He let it ring for a long time until it was irritatingly clear that there was no one there to answer it.

  ‘So, where the devil is she?’ Muttering impatiently, he dropped the receiver into its cradle. He was used to her gadding about with her chums.