Three Letters Page 4

  ‘What?’ As always, Casey hung on his every word.

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I reckon …’ Tom paused, wondering how to put it, ‘… yeah, I reckon the angels must have smiled on you.’

  ‘Really?’ Casey wasn’t sure what to make of his daddy’s comment, but he thought it might be a good thing.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Tom looked him in the eye, his voice low and meaningful. ‘I’ll tell you something …’ Then he thought of what he was about to do, and how it would affect this darling boy, and he was racked with pain.

  Impatient, Casey caught his attention. ‘Go on then … what were you going to tell me?’

  ‘Listen to me, son. You must never forget what I’m about to say. I need you to think about it, and believe it. And when you think about it, I want you to keep it in your heart. Can you do that for me, Casey?’

  Intrigued and excited, Casey promised. So Tom told him. ‘First of all, I’m very proud of you, Casey. You’re a wonderful son, and I love you so very much.’

  ‘I love you too, Daddy.’

  Tom smiled. ‘Would you like to know something else?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Well, then. From the first day you came struggling into the world, I always believed that the angels had smiled on you. Y’see, when the angels smile on someone who they think is extra special, they also sprinkle a little bit of magic.’

  The boy was mesmerised. ‘Do they? Do they really?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But they don’t always smile on everyone.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think they smiled on my teacher, because he shouts and he never laughs, and when the bell goes for playtime, he throws us out in a heap.’

  Tom chuckled. ‘I expect that’s because the poor man’s had enough of you by playtime, eh?’

  ‘Did the angels smile on you, Daddy?’

  Tom thought about that. ‘I reckon they did,’ he answered solemnly. ‘Not because they thought I was anything special, but because they gave me an important assignment. Y’see, they wanted me to take care of you. And I’m very happy with that.’

  ‘So, how did the angels smile on me, Daddy?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy.’ Tom felt a mingling of joy and great sadness. ‘When you pick up that guitar and make music, it’s a beautiful thing to hear. You’re one of the few people who can touch the heart and lift the soul.’

  He cast his mind back to his own childhood. ‘When I was your age, my daddy – your granddad Bob – taught me to play the guitar. I learned quickly and, just like you, I really loved it. But I could never make the guitar sing quite like you do. I could make people listen and I enjoyed it, but you, Casey, you live it. You’re part of the guitar and together you create a magic all of your own. Believe it or not, there are very few people who can do that. You see, Casey,’ he tapped his chest, ‘when you play, the music comes from deep down inside of you. Something amazing happens, because you have a way of reaching people … of touching them with your music. You make them happy and sad, and uplifted all at the same time. Tell me, son, is that how you feel when you play?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, you understand what I’m saying then?’

  ‘I think so, Daddy.’ Up to now, he had never told anyone how he felt when he played the guitar. ‘When Granddad Bob plays, it makes me sad, and I want to cry. Then I feel happy and I want to laugh out loud. I want him to play for ever, because it’s …’ Lost for words, he fell quiet for a moment, ‘… Granddad must have the magic, eh?’

  Tom smiled. ‘Yes, son. And after the angels had sprinkled the magic on Granddad, they saved some of it for you. The thing is, Casey, you’ve been blessed with a gift that can never be taught.’

  ‘Does Granddad Bob think the same?’

  ‘I don’t know; he’s never said, but though you’ve each been given a gift and you play with the same passion, there is a difference between you and Granddad. You see, Granddad Bob never had ambitions to play big halls or travel the world. I would have liked to, but it didn’t work out. But you will. One day when you’re ready, you’ll take your music to the people, and however long you play for them, they will always want more.’

  ‘What? Y’mean like when they asked me to play for the Scouts’ party, and they wanted me to play again?’

  Tom chuckled. ‘Well, yes … sort of. Only, I’m talking huge halls, like the size of the Ritz picture house, with hundreds of people listening to you play, and afterwards they’ll clap so loud the rafters will shake.’

  ‘Oh!’ In his mind, the boy conjured up a frightening image. ‘That’s too scary!’

  ‘All right then, maybe the rafters won’t shake,’ Tom reassured him, ‘but when the people stand up, clapping and shouting, everyone will hear, and then your name will be known across the world. “Casey Denton,” they’ll say, “oh, but he’s got the magic.”’

  Afraid and excited and all at once lost for words, the boy didn’t know what to say. What his daddy told him just now, was overwhelming. He could not begin to take it in.

  Bringing the exchange to a close, Tom remembered Casey would be hungry. ‘Come on, son. It’s time to put the guitar away.’

  A few minutes later, after the guitar was safely replaced in its cubbyhole, Tom took his son by the hand. ‘Now that we’ve set the world to rights, I reckon it’s time we got summat to eat, don’t you?’

  He could see how Casey had been astonished by his vision of the future, while he himself had never been in any doubt as to his son’s musical talents. From Casey’s first attempt at playing the guitar, Tom had been convinced that one day his boy would make his mark in the music world.

  Casey had been mulling his daddy’s words over in his mind. ‘If they ask me to visit different places away from here, you will come with me, won’t you?’

  ‘If it’s possible, I’ll be with you always. Everywhere you go,’ Tom answered cagily. He gave Casey a gentle warning. ‘I’m not saying success will be handed to you on a plate. Oh, no! In this world, if you give nothing out, you get nothing back. That’s the way it is, but if you work hard and stick at it, I can honestly promise that, in time, you’ll play the guitar better than I ever did; and, dare I say it, better, even, than your granddad Bob.’

  The boy caught his breath. ‘I’ll never be as good as you and Granddad. Never!’

  Pausing outside the parlour door, Tom stooped down and, gently wrapping his work-worn hands about the boy’s face, he gave a quiet, knowing smile. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, son?’

  ‘You’ll help me, though, won’t you, Daddy?’

  ‘Haven’t I already helped you?’ He hoped so. Oh, he did hope so. Brightening his smile, he announced jovially, ‘My stomach’s playing a tune of its own, so now can we kindly go in search o’ them fish and chips?’

  Ruth was just putting out a pot of tea and various condiments.

  ‘It’ll be your own fault if the food’s gone cold!’ she snapped. ‘What the devil ’ave you been up to?’

  ‘Daddy’s been listening to me play the guitar,’ Casey announced proudly. ‘When we’ve finished our tea, will you come and listen, please, Mam?’

  ‘I haven’t got time!’ Taking a piece of bread and butter, she took a huge bite and, still chewing, she told him angrily, ‘I’ve told you before, I’ve got more to do than listen to you making a row on that damned guitar!’

  She felt peeved. The brat had spoiled her fun with Len, and then Tom had taken it on himself to open his wage packet. It was clear that the pair of them were getting above themselves, and she was determined to nip that in the bud.

  ‘Please, Mam?’ Casey reminded her. ‘You never listen to me play.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve got better things to do.’ Angrily slicing a fleshy chunk from the fish-belly, she stabbed it with her fork and rammed it into her mouth. ‘You’re getting above yourself, my boy!’ A flake of fish escaped down her chin and she angrily wiped it away. ‘What right had you to play that guitar? Especially after I warned yo
u not to?’ She was determined to stir up trouble between father and son. They were always cosying up together over the wretched guitar.

  Shocked at her blatant lie, Casey again reminded her, ‘You said I could play it.’ He turned to his father. ‘Honestly, Daddy, I would never play your guitar without asking. Mam said it would be all right.’ Close to tears, he appealed to his mother. ‘Tell him, Mam … please?’

  ‘You’re a wicked little liar!’ Leaning towards him, she raised her hand, but when Tom fastened her with a hardened look, she dropped it and began viciously hacking at the fish. ‘I might have known you’d believe him against me,’ she ranted. ‘I’m telling you, I never said he could play it. I told him he could clean it, and that was all!’

  Fixing Casey in a direct glare, she warned, ‘Don’t you dare make me out to be the bad one! You’d best own up and shame the devil. Go on, own up to what you did!’ She envied their close relationship, and it gave her a sense of achievement when she was able to come between them.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ Tom intervened. ‘Stop bullying the boy, Ruth!’ He knew she was the one who was lying; he could see it in her face.

  ‘So, I’m “bullying” him, am I?’ Slamming down her knife and fork, she glared at Tom. ‘He’s calling me a liar, and you’re doing sod-all about it! That boy is turning out to be a bad ’un, but you just can’t see it, can you?’

  ‘Honestly, Daddy, I’m telling you the truth,’ Casey sobbed. ‘I would never play your guitar without asking. I went to the bedroom and asked if I could clean the guitar. But Mam got angry, and told me to go away.’ Something else came into his mind. ‘She didn’t want me outside her bedroom door. She said I could sell your guitar to old Foggarty …’ He paused, remembering. ‘She told me to go away … that she was busy …’ He began to falter. ‘I heard something else, I mean … I think I heard.’

  A hostile glance from Ruth was enough to put him on his guard, but then fear became anger. ‘It’s Mam who’s telling lies. Not me!’

  Believing enough had been said, Tom soothed the boy. ‘That’s enough, Casey. Eat your tea now. It doesn’t matter if you did play the guitar without asking, because I would have said yes anyway. But, if you like, we can talk about this later, eh?’ He gave a little smile. ‘All right, son?’

  The boy gave a nod. His mam did things that worried him. There had been other times when he’d thought she had someone in her bedroom. He wondered if he should tell the whole truth: how this very afternoon, he thought he heard her talking to someone there. And what about the man she said she’d sent away?

  Casey suspected she had not sent the man away at all, yet he fretted about telling, because he didn’t want to cause another argument. His troubled young heart urged him to confide in his daddy about men sneaking in and out of the house, and voices whispering in her bedroom. One time there was money lying on her bed after she’d had a visitor. That made him curious. It puzzled him, but he never said anything about it.

  Casey knew his mother was doing bad things, and his every instinct told him to speak out. But common sense and a deep-down dread warned him not to reveal what he had seen and heard.

  Across the table, Tom wondered how much Casey really did know. It was painfully obvious that Ruth intended to cover her own guilt by throwing the blame onto her son. It was a shocking, shameful thing for any mother to do.

  With a heavy heart, Tom found it all too easy to fit the pieces together in his mind. He had suspected for some time that Ruth was cheating on him, but like a fool he had let it drift; choosing instead to put it down to his imagination. Now, though, on this night of all nights, he had no choice but to face the truth: that his wife was not only cheating on him, but she was a barefaced liar and a bully into the bargain.

  Tom realised, though, that he had to be careful not to make a wrong move. These past few days he had been forced to think things through. For reasons of her own, Ruth was a hard-hearted, vengeful woman, who would make the boy’s life a misery if it suited her purpose. Above all else, Tom was determined his son’s future safety must be ensured.

  Again, he wondered about the man he saw fleeing from the ginnel. Now he had little doubt but that the man was Len Baker, his long-time workmate. Angry and disgusted, he imagined Len and Ruth together, and his stomach churned.

  He felt ashamed, and dirty. He wanted to shake her, to make her tell him the truth, but with Casey already distressed he kept his silence. Later, though, he meant to root out the truth, and deal with the consequences.

  Having decided on the road he must take, he felt stronger and calmer.

  The meal continued in an uncomfortable atmosphere.

  Having wolfed down her food, Ruth angrily pushed her chair back. ‘Look at the wasted food!’ she raged at the boy for his meagre appetite. ‘All that money down the drain! You’re a useless brat … causing rows and making up stories. You need a bloody good hiding, that’s what you need!’ She caught him by the hair.

  ‘Leave him!’ Tom’s sharp warning sent her muttering and swearing into the scullery with her crockery.

  Casey remained silent. He had seen his mother in a bad temper before, but this time she was like a mad thing.

  ‘You’ve eaten next to nothing,’ Tom told his son. He gestured to the food on Casey’s plate. ‘Try to eat a bit more, if you can, son. And don’t worry, whatever’s going on here, your mam and I will deal with it.’ Standing up, he too pushed his chair back.

  ‘Where are you going, Daddy?’ Casey was anxious.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute. When I get back, I want to see less on your plate than there is now. OK?’

  ‘You’re not going away, are you? You won’t leave me, will you?’ Casey glanced nervously towards the scullery. What if Mam came back to beat him, and Daddy wasn’t there to stop her?

  Tom tried to reassure the boy. ‘Do as I ask, will you, son? Try and eat up your food, and I’ll be back soon enough.’

  He turned away to leave the room, and went slowly upstairs.

  Pushing open the bedroom door, he stood for a moment, his gaze falling on the bed. The eiderdown was ruffled and untidy, as though the bed had been made in a hurry.

  When he drew the eiderdown back, Tom was not surprised to see the undersheet was heavily crumpled, with both pillows in complete disarray.

  The unmade bed was all the more suspicious because, while Ruth was not a good housewife, she was very particular about keeping a neat, attractive bed.

  Then Tom noticed a small object peeping out from beneath the edge of the eiderdown. Curious, he stooped down and, taking hold of a small, black leather strap, he withdrew a set of keys: one a brass door key; the other, smaller and silver.

  Turning the keys over in the palm of his hand, he realised he’d seen them before. It took him a moment or two to remember. Yes, of course! It had been just a few days ago.

  Tom thought back. He and his fellow workers were on their tea break, and he had seen these very keys lying on top of a packing case. He had actually moved the keys aside so he could sit down.

  He recalled then how Len had come back looking for them. There was no mistaking them: these were definitely Len’s keys. It was him all right … it was Len! In his mind’s eye Tom could see Len running from the ginnel, and his heart sank.

  So! Ruth had been cheating on him yet again, this time in their own home. In their own bed.

  Even worse, their son had been right there, outside the bedroom door, while she and her fancy-man were … Sickened, he shut out the images. He daren’t even bring himself to think that Casey could have found them lying together.

  Just as he was thinking of Casey, he heard his son cry out, ‘Please, Mam, don’t! You’re hurting me …’

  ‘Casey!’ With the keys in his hand, Tom ran down the stairs and along the passageway to the back parlour.

  Casey was cowering at the table, while, standing over him, Ruth was battering him with such force it seemed she meant to kill him.

  With both arms acro
ss his head in an effort to protect himself, Casey was sobbing, ‘I weren’t gonna tell … I weren’t!’

  ‘LIAR!’ She bent to look him in the face, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. ‘The minute my back was turned you would ’ave told all right. Admit it, damn you!’ Her hands round Casey’s neck, she began to squeeze. ‘Yer a troublemaker! Yer should never ’ave been born!’

  ‘For God’s sake, are you mad!’ Surging forward, Tom grabbed the boy and swung him out of her reach. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

  ‘He needs teaching a lesson!’ Ruth made to grab the boy, but Tom was quicker as he lowered Casey behind him, out of her reach. ‘Leave him be!’ He held out a hand to ward her off.

  Like a crazy thing, she went for him, her sharp talons drawing blood as she scraped them down his face. ‘Why d’you always believe him over me?’ she screeched. ‘What’s he been saying? What lies has ’e told, that’s what I want to know!’

  Shocked by her vicious attack, Tom grabbed her by the arms and held her still. ‘Listen to me. It doesn’t matter any more!’ Forcing her down into a chair, his voice and manner became suddenly calm. ‘Whatever Casey has to tell me, or however many men you choose over me, none of it matters any more.’ Leaning down, he put his face close to hers and, speaking in a soft, almost kindly voice, he told her, ‘It’s over, Ruth. You and me … it’s over and done with. For good.’

  His sudden change of mood had her worried and she pulled away from him. ‘What d’yer mean, “none of it matters any more”? What’s your game, eh?’ In the depth of her crazed mind, she could see him throwing her out, turning her onto the streets without money, or a roof over her head. ‘You’d better not be threatening me,’ she whined. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong!’

  Ignoring her, Tom turned to Casey. ‘Are you all right, son?’

  His face streaked with tears, Casey nodded. ‘I’m all right, Daddy.’

  ‘Good. Then I’d like you to go in the scullery and wash your hands and face. Comb your hair and make yourself look respectable. And don’t open the door until I call. Me and your mother need to talk. Can you do that for me?’