Three Letters
Three Letters
Josephine Cox
The brand new dramatic novel about the power of a father’s love, a little boy’s journey,and the desperate search for a place to call home, from Number 1 best-selling author Josephine Cox.Eight-year-old Casey’s mother Ruth is a cruel woman, with a weakness for other women’s husbands.Casey’s father is gentle and hard-working and, though Tom Denton has long suspected his wife of having sordid affairs, he has chosen to turn a blind eye to keep the peace. But then, out of the blue, Tom’s world is cruelly shattered when he receives two bits of devastating news. Because of this, Tom realises that from now on their lives must change, forever.Tom is made to fight for his son, determined to keep him safe. But, when fate takes a hand, life can be unbearably cruel, and Casey is made to remember his father’s prophetic words…‘It’s done. The dice is thrown, and nobody wins.’But, unbeknown to Casey, there are three letters penned by his father, that may just change his destiny forever.
JOSEPHINE COX
Three Letters
Copyright (#ulink_d3398a4f-a701-596d-ad5d-1a08e342d397)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperCollins 2012
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2012
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780007419999
Ebook Edition © February 2012 ISBN: 9780007419975
Version: 2017-05-22
Praise (#ulink_da8b0724-461b-54e2-8837-1f888122cbf5)
‘Readers will find it impossible to tear themselves away.’
News of the World
‘Another hit for Josephine Cox.’
Sunday Express
‘The latest emotionally charged story from this mega-selling author won’t disappoint her army of fans.’
Bella
‘Cox’s talent as a storyteller never lets you escape the spell.’
Daily Mail
‘Another masterpiece.’
Best
‘A born storyteller.’
Bedfordshire Times
Dedication (#ulink_43ad8c62-adf3-5dc0-bb2c-95603252311a)
To my darling Ken, as always.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u6a161452-3f34-5dc3-9041-42329b6a6b1f)
Title Page (#ucd1d2d22-c26c-5cf4-a7ba-7f88e0f9b3bd)
Copyright (#u7ebec64e-830f-515d-882e-cb1637a6167f)
Praise (#u2a7375f7-6289-5159-842f-884db9be2127)
Dedication (#u9d4136f6-4ec2-5275-9868-2d2449cbf363)
Part One: Blackburn – March 1958 – Lies (#ufb31fd88-0c56-50c6-8045-6a90844d02e3)
Chapter One (#u68ffa902-e919-566a-9d09-873ff180ee70)
Chapter Two (#ueb79c537-ffbe-5c87-bcca-878b6d4ac9a9)
Chapter Three (#u6afa7317-9a24-5325-a132-8b5c8920fc05)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two: Loving Arms (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Three: A Hard Road (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Four: Chance Encounter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Five: Suspicions (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Six: Your Sins will Find You Out (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Q&A with Josephine Cox (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader,
It never ceases to amaze and touch me deeply, when I read your wonderful and very honest letters. I hope you can confide in me whenever you feel lonely or sad and, as ever, I will always reply as soon as I can.
For those of you going through a very difficult time, I hope things will be alright and I do understand and listen. For now, my thoughts are with you.
All my love,
Jo x
PART ONE (#ulink_6d7a3d11-cea4-53fd-8336-ab6fc6676fb0)
Blackburn – March 1958 Lies (#ulink_6d7a3d11-cea4-53fd-8336-ab6fc6676fb0)
Below is part of the letter that Casey receives from his father.
For Casey
My love will always be with you, son, and if it’s possible, I will be ever by your side, watching and guiding you. When you’re worried and sad of heart, you might hear the softest rush of sound about you. It will be me, come to encourage and help you.
Be brave, my son. Follow your heart, and know always that I love you.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c560f3c1-2825-51ab-85f7-e23b4a400248)
‘RIGHT, LADS, TIME to finish up.’ The foreman’s voice echoed through the factory. ‘We’ve all got better things to do than hang round ’ere, so come on, chop chop.’
Grateful to be at the end of another week, the men heard Bill Townsend’s instructions and the machines were quickly switched off.
Tormented by his thoughts, Tom Denton had not heard the instructions and he continued to grade the metal parts, as they travelled along the conveyor belt.
‘Wake up, lad!’ the foreman shouted. ‘It’s time to go … unless yer want to spend the weekend ’ere?’
Tom acknowledged the order with a nod of the head. He switched off the machine, quickly stacked the graded tools into a packing case, then collected his bag.
Hurrying down the gangway, he fell in with the other men; their voices creating an eerie echo as they chattered amongst themselves. Marching towards the door, their heavy boots made a comforting rhythmic sound against the concrete floor.
‘I can’t wait to get home,’ said one, ‘I’ve a meaty hot-pot waiting for me.’
One of the men chuckled. ‘A meaty hot-pot, eh? What’s that, your wife or your dinner?’ His cheeky comment created a roar of laughter amongst his workmates.
Waiting with the men’s wage packets, Bill Townsend focused his attention on Tom; a quiet young man in his early thirties. From starting work as an apprentice at the age of fourteen, he had proved himself to be a hard worker, thoroughly reliable and greatly respected by his colleagues. He was also popular, with his kindly nature, and easy smile, even though for the sake of his son, he was made to tolerate a shameful situation at home. A situation which, unbeknown to Tom, was common gossip in the local community.
He had two great loves in his life. One was his music. The other was young Casey, the son he doted on.
He was more than willing to pass the time of day during the short break, especially with his mate, Len, who was the mechanic that kept the machines in top working order, though today, Len was off work having three of his teeth out.
Bill wondered about Tom, having noticed how quiet he had been of late. His smile was not so quick, and his shoulders were hunched, as though carrying the weight of the world.
Having heard the latest gossip in the neighbourhood, Bill had a good idea what was playing on Tom’s mind, but it was not for him to interfere and, more importantly, Tom would not thank him for it. As far as he was concerned, any friction between a man and his wife was for them to deal with. Others could mind their own business.
Just then, sensing that he was being watched, Tom looked up to see Bill staring at him. Feeling uncomfortable at having been caught out, Bill gave him a quick smile, and hurriedly returned to his paperwork. ‘No doubt that woman has been giving him grief again!’ Like everyone else, Bill was aware of the gossip.
Tom guessed what was going through Bill’s mind, as it must be going through the mind of every man jack on that factory floor. He had long suspected they were aware of his unhappy marital situation. In fact, he was sure the whole of Blackburn must know about his wife’s sordid affairs by now.
Whenever he tackled her about seeing other men, she always denied it, but occasionally the evidence betrayed her. A trusted neighbour might tell him; or he might catch a glimpse of her in the street on the arm of some stranger, and once he came home to find a man’s wallet lying on the floor of their bedroom.
Like a good and practised liar, she always had answers. After a while, for the sake of peace, Tom pretended to believe her lies, but he had so much bitterness and regret in him, so much pain. There was a time when he had adored her, but his love for Ruth had diminished in the face of her betrayals. For the sake of appearances, and the wellbeing of their son, he had stayed in the belief that it was better for young Casey to be part of a slightly damaged family than not be part of a family at all.
He made himself believe that he must be partly to blame, that somehow he had failed not only Ruth, but himself. In the end, seeing no way out of his impossible dilemma, and unable to right the situation, he left her to her own devices and devoted his life and energy to Casey.
If it hadn’t been for his son, Tom would have left his cheating wife long ago, but Casey was the light of his life and at times, his only joy.
Now, though, ironically, his careful reasoning was undermined, because Fate had intervened, driving him in a different and unexpected direction.
As he queued for his wages with the other men, Tom silently dwelt on his life and the way things had turned out. Ruth had been the wrong woman for him, and because of her, he had never taken the chances when they came along. And there had been one or two, the most memorable being a certain occasion when his musical talent might have carried him into the big time. Now that was a dream long gone. His chances of becoming a serious musician were lost for ever. He would never know the joy of playing to audiences far and wide because, like a fool, he had listened to Ruth, and now it was all too late.
Pushing the bad thoughts from his mind, Tom thought of Casey, and a gentle, loving smile washed over his face. That cheeky, darling boy had appeared to inherit his daddy’s passion for music, and a quenchless curiosity for knowledge. He wanted to know everything: about music, about life and the way of things in the world.
From the minute he could speak, Casey questioned everything, wanting to know where the sun came from in the morning and where it went at night. He spent hours watching the birds in the back yard, and when they sang he mimicked them and sang back.
In his odd little way, Casey had danced before he could walk, and whenever Tom brought out his guitar to play, Casey would sit on his knee to watch and listen, his face wreathed in amazement while the music filled his soul. Then his mammy would complain about the noise and the music was stopped.
Thinking about that now, Tom realised there were things he was powerless to change, and he was filled with a great sense of sorrow. Now, although it was too late for Tom himself, it was not too late for Casey.
‘You all right, Tom?’ Ernie Sutton, a workmate, sidled up to him. ‘What’s up with yer?’
Tom was instantly on his guard. ‘Nothing. Why?’
Ernie gave a shrug. ‘I were just wondering. I mean … you’ve been quieter than usual, that’s all.’ Like the others, he had noticed how Tom had barely spoken a word today. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ he ventured gently. ‘I’m older than you, son, and I’ve seen a bit of life. I might be able to advise you … if you’ve a problem, that is?’
‘I’m not saying I don’t have problems,’ Tom admitted wryly, ‘… because I do … like any other man, I expect. The thing is, Ernie, we all have to deal with them in our own way. Isn’t that right?’
‘Aye. That’s right enough, I dare say.’ Ernie thought it best to leave him be. ‘Sorry if I overstepped the mark, son. I just wanted to let you know … I’m here if you need a friend.’
‘You’re always a good friend, Ernie, but I’m all right. Really.’
Stepping aside, Ernie felt unsettled. Over the years he had come to know Tom well, and he sensed that there was something playing on the younger fella’s mind. Something more than usual, even more than money. None of the men was well off, but Tom was a grafter who provided well for the boy. He even sustained a shameless hussy who flaunted herself at any man who would give her the time of day.
Thinking of Ruth Denton made Ernie grateful for his own wife of twenty years, a fine woman, content with her man. It would never enter her head to go throwing herself about like some cheap tart.
Tom was anxious to collect his wages and get home now. He needed to talk with Ruth, and this time she must listen to what he had to say. Twice before he tried to discuss his concerns, but she was never interested. The last time he had broached the subject, she had just walked away. Tonight, though, because of the latest development, he was determined to say his piece.
He had borne the burden of his secret for too long. Time was running out and the truth must be faced.
‘What about you, Tom?’
Tom was startled. ‘Sorry, Bill, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?’
‘I were just saying, it’s Friday, and I, for one, am off to the pub for a quick pint.’ Bill Townsend was a mountain of a man, with an unhealthy liking for the booze. He was a good foreman and a straight-talking, likeable fellow, but when he got the booze inside him, he could be argumentative, itching to flatten anyone who got in his way. ‘Come on, lads! Half an hour at the most,’ he persisted. ‘You’ll not get the chance of a crafty pint, once the wife gets her hands on your wage packet!’
Dishing out the little brown envelopes containing their week’s wages, he continued to coax them. ‘Look, you can’t send me in there on my own. There’s no fun in that, is there, eh?’
‘It’s all right for you, Bill.’ John Howard was older, sincere and loyal to his workmates, while good-naturedly grumbling about his wife of many years. ‘You don’t have a wife who would throw a sulk all weekend just because you had a drink with your mates. You don’t know what she’s like.’
‘That’s very true.’ With no woman of his own and no responsibilities, big Bill had a twinkle in his eye, and a bigger twinkle in his pants. With his wages tucked safely away, he was looking forward to an hour or so in the pub, where he hoped to enjoy an eyeful of the barmaid’s large and attractive assets and, if he was lucky enough, maybe even a romp in the back room afterwards, and not for the first time either.
‘At least you’ve a woman of your own!’ he told John. ‘There are times when I’d kill for a feisty, jealous woman waiting for me at home. It’s a lonely old life on your own.’ He shifted his sorry gaze from one man to another. ‘Come on, lads, just half an hour of your company, that’s all I’m asking.’
John was adamant. ‘Not me, Bill. Sorry, but I’m off home to put my feet up, and hopefully pick out a winner or two from the racing page.’
Bill shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ He turned back to Tom, still hoping there might be a possibility that he could help with whatever was troubling him. ‘Won’t you change your mind, Tom? Join me for a pint or two and a chat, eh?’
Tom was adamant. ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t … not tonight.’
‘Why’s that then?’ Bill gently quizzed him. ‘What’s so desperate you can’t come out with me and the lads for half an hour?’
Tom took a moment to consider his answer. The last thing he needed was a grilling. ‘It’s not that I’m “desperate” to get home,’ he said. ‘It’s … my boy, Casey.’ He hated lying. ‘I promised I’d take him to the pictures tonight.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The older man was not fooled, but he went along with Tom’s explanation. ‘Well, that’s reason enough for me, lad! You must keep your promise to the boy.’
Seeing the questioning look in the older man’s eyes, Tom knew his lie was found out, and he felt ashamed. ‘Another time maybe?’
‘Yeah. Another time.’ Bill Townsend felt a rush of sympathy. He suspected that Tom’s cheating wife had been at her old game again. She made no secret of her liking for other men. And, as if that wasn’t enough humiliation for Tom, she had a habit of belittling him in public when, rather than argue in the street, Tom would simply walk away.
‘Right then!’ Bill quickly shifted his attention to the other men. ‘So, there’s none of you up for it, eh? Fair enough, I’ll go on my own, and sit in the corner like some poor lost soul.’
‘Oh, go on then, you’ve talked me into it.’ Will Drayton was a bit of a Jack-the-lad. A family man, at heart, he still believed he had a right to be single whenever it suited him. ‘Count me in, boss.’
‘Me too!’ That was Arnie Sutton. Married with four children, he often rolled home, drunk and violent. Thankfully, his long-suffering wife was a match for him. An hour in the pub would cost him a week of nagging and deprivation in the bedroom. But did he care? Not one jot; because the making-up was well worth the aggravation.
‘Count me in!’ Jacob Tully was a quiet, unmarried young man, burdened with a dictatorial mother. She thought nothing of thrashing him with the poker, the scars of which he carried on his back. Usually he would not have accepted Townsend’s invitation, but tonight he felt the need to fortify himself before walking into the usual war zone at home.
Jacob had long promised himself that one of these fine days he would pack his bag, and walk out of his mother’s house for good. Deep down, though, he knew he could never abandon her. For good or bad, Mabel was his mother. Maybe her quick temper was his fault; maybe he wasn’t earning enough, or looking after her well. Maybe she was lonely and frightened, needing to vent her frustrations on the only person left in her life since her husband died two years ago. If he left, how would she manage? She had little money, and whenever anyone mentioned her going to work, she panicked, claiming she was too ill, that no one realised how hard it was for her to get through each day.
Jacob was the breadwinner, solely responsible for the bills and upkeep of their home. Each day his mother seemed to lean on him more, and slowly but surely, he had allowed it to happen.
Even now, when he found himself the butt of her vicious temper and spiteful ways, he could not find the heart to desert her. But if he ever did summon up the courage to leave her, where would he go?
As a schoolboy, he had been discouraged from making friends, and later when he’d started dating, his mother always managed to get rid of any girl he brought home.
Now, without real friends or interests, Jacob felt life was passing him by. He deeply regretted that, but life under his mother’s rule was impossible to change. He had no idea how he might regain his freedom.
He gave a deep, inward sigh. As Bill Townsend had implied just now, being all alone in the world was a frightening prospect. Sometimes, you were better off with the devil you knew.
Bill Townsend had been pleasantly surprised at Jacob’s offer to join him. ‘You’re sure, are you, lad? I mean … as a rule, you’re allus in a rush to get home.’
Jacob’s uncomfortable existence was a secret from his workmates.
‘There’s no need for me to rush home. Not tonight anyway,’ Jacob answered warily. ‘Mum won’t be home till late,’ he lied. ‘She’s visiting some old friends in Darwen, and I’m to get my own dinner. To tell you the truth, I’m not much good at peeling spuds and all that, so I might as well enjoy a pint or two in the pub with all of you.’ Taking matters into his own hands was a rare and exciting thing. It made him feel proud, like a man should.
Of course his mother would make him pay for this, but just for tonight he didn’t care. He knew he would feel the weight of the poker across his back when he rolled home, all the merrier for a few pints, but his back was broad enough to take it, and his spirit all the stronger for having defied her.
‘Right then!’ Bill’s gruff voice rattled across the factory floor. ‘Anybody else? And don’t tell me you haven’t got a thirst on, because I know better! Surely, the missus won’t begrudge you one pint.’
He was greeted with a flurry of excuses.
‘Huh! You don’t know my missus.’
‘I’ve promised to take mine down to the Lion’s Head. There’s a darts match on tonight.’
‘An’ I’m looking forward to my woman’s fish pie and chips … best you’ve ever tasted.’
Bill decided they were all cowards of one sort or another. ‘Go on then, clear off,’ he taunted jokingly. ‘Miserable buggers, the lot of you!’
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.
‘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’yer 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.’
‘I need to get back,’ Tom explained graciously. ‘I missed my bus so I’ve had to walk, but I’m almost home now. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be in the warm. Thank you all the same.’
She was genuinely disappointed. ‘Aye, well, I expect you’re eager to get home to yer good woman, eh?’
Tom gave a wry little smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’ He wished Ruth could realise how she had damaged his love by her rejection of Casey, together with her infidelity to himself.
Often it felt to Tom that there were only two people in the whole world that mattered to him now. They were his father, Bob, and his son, Casey; and may God forgive him, for he was about to hurt them badly.
‘There you are, son.’ The kindly woman tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Oh!’ Tom apologised, ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Are you all right?’ She’d seen the faraway look in his eyes and, being a mother herself, she suspected he was unhappy. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve a son about your age, and I know how some things can get you down.’ She smiled. ‘Money worries, is it?’
‘No, we manage well enough, I reckon,’ Tom assured her.
‘Oh, well then, it’ll be woman trouble,’ she tutted. ‘It’s allus woman trouble … at least with my son it is. She’s already left him twice and come back with her tail between her legs. I tell him straight, you’d be better off without her, but he never listens—’
She would have ranted on, but Tom interrupted, ‘No, it’s not woman trouble, but thanks for your interest.’ She meant well, he thought, but from what she was saying, it sounded as though she might have troubles of her own.
‘Right then!’ She handed him the bag of food. ‘I’ve double-wrapped them in newspaper so they should still be nice and hot by the time yer get home.’
Wishing her well, Tom opened his wage packet, settled the bill, and left.
He knew Ruth would not be too pleased about him dipping into the wage packet. No doubt she would launch into one of her tantrums.
Besides, he had no intention of being drawn into an argument, especially not tonight of all nights, when he had other pressing matters on his mind.
With the three meals bagged up and tucked under his coat to keep warm, he quickened his pace towards home. The sooner it’s done, the better, he told himself. There’s no turning back. Not now. Not ever.
It wasn’t long before he was approaching Henry Street.
As he crossed the little Blakewater bridge, he paused, holding the meals safe with one hand, while with the other, he frantically searched his coat pockets for the front door key.
Still digging about in his pockets, determined to find the key, he set off again. By this time, he was only minutes away from his front door.
The closer he got to the house, the more he despaired at the thought of what he must do, and how it would devastate those he loved.
Oh, Tom, have you really thought it through? Not for the first time he questioned himself. You must know what it will do to that lad o’ yours?
Momentarily distraught, he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and his heart heavy. It’s a terrible thing you’re planning, Tom, he admitted … a terrible, sinful thing.
Raising his gaze to the skies, he asked softly, ‘Please, Lord, don’t punish the boy for my bad actions. Look after him, Lord. Don’t let him come to any harm.’ When the tears threatened, he took a deep breath and continued on; his pace now slow and laboured. But his determination remained unswerving.
Nothing, not his crippling sense of guilt nor the deep concern he felt for his father, nor even his complete devotion to the boy, could change his mind. Not when the alternative could prove to be even more painful. Not when he knew that whichever road he took, all would be lost anyway.
Upstairs, Tom’s wife and the trusted workmate were parting company.
‘Ssh!’
While the man frantically dressed, Ruth ran onto the landing and listened. Nervous, she fled back into the bedroom. ‘There’s somebody outside the front door. You’d best be quick!’
She grabbed the money he was offering, then took him by the arm and led him quickly and silently onto the landing, where she peered down.
‘It’s all clear … hurry!’ She ran him down the stairs. ‘Go out the back way.’ Keeping one wary eye on the front door, she hissed, ‘Through the scullery and out, along the ginnel. Be quick, dammit!’ She shoved Len towards the back rooms.
Relieved to hear that Tom was chatting with someone outside the front door, she fled swiftly back up the stairs and into the bedroom where, breathless and excited, she hid her shameful earnings in a purpose-made slit in the hem of the curtain linings.
She then went to the mirror, where she wiped away the heavy make-up and tidied her hair.
On checking herself in the mirror, she wagged a finger at the reflected image. ‘One o’ these days, my girl, if yer not careful, you’ll be caught out, sure as eggs are eggs!’ The thought of her conquest fleeing through the alleyways with his underpants on back to front and his trouser-belt dangling, had her stifling a giggle.
Outside, Tom bade the neighbour good night. ‘Mind how you go, Mick, lad.’ The amiable old man was away to get his regular pint of ale at the local. He was often too early, but the landlord always let him in, and no one ever complained. Even the local bobby looked the other way.
Impatient, Tom struggled with the fish and chips, finally found his key, and slid the key in the lock. Just then, out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone running out of the ginnel some way down the street. For a split second he thought he recognised the figure. But it was dark, the man was quickly gone from sight, and now he was not altogether certain.
Tom shook his head, No … it couldn’t be Len, he thought. What in God’s name would he be doing running out of a ginnel, and here of all places? Besides, as I recall, he sent word to the foreman, to say he was having some teeth taken out.
Looking again at the shadowy place where the figure had disappeared, a niggling thought crossed his mind. Then he glanced up at the front bedroom, where the light was on. ‘No …’ He dared not allow himself to believe what was running through his mind: the shocking idea of his wife and Len … up there in his own bed. All the same, he knew from experience that it was not an impossibility. Don’t be so bloody stupid! Len’s a good mate! he angrily dispatched the wicked idea from his mind.
But the seed was sown. Maybe it really was Len running out of the ginnel. ‘You’re wrong.’ he muttered angrily. ‘Take a grip of yourself, man!’
Opening the door, he entered the house, and called out his son’s name. ‘Casey! Casey, where are you?’
When there was no answer he closed the door, went down the passage and called up the stairs, ‘Ruth, I’m home.’
Ruth came rushing from the parlour, where she’d been congratulating herself on her conquest of Len, and her quick wit in covering her tracks. But then she’d had enough practice over the years.
Tom was surprised to see her coming from the direction of the back room. ‘I thought you were upstairs.’
‘Really? Well, now you can see I’m not.’
‘Did you know the lights are on up there?’
She feigned surprise. ‘Oh, are they? Well, yes, I was up there changing the beds, but I came rushing down when I heard you at the door.’
Cursing herself for leaving the lights on, she wisely changed the subject. ‘Anyway, you’re late! Where’ve you been?’ Keeping a distance, she groaned, ‘The tea isn’t ready yet, but I’ve been up to my neck in ironing, and I’ve been catching up on a multitude of things.’
Tom was not surprised. ‘So there’s no tea ready, then?’
‘Like I said, I’ve been that busy I haven’t even had time to go to the butcher’s and get the sausages I planned for your meal.’
Eager to vindicate herself she began to whine, ‘You’ve no idea of the time it takes to run a house.’ She held out her hand. ‘Oh, and I’ll need some money if I’m going to buy some food from the corner shop. You go and talk to Casey.’ She stretched out her hand, ‘come on then!’ waiting.
‘Where’s Casey?’ Normally, the boy would be at the door, looking for his dad.
‘He’s in the front parlour. He said something about cleaning your guitar.’
At that moment, soft musical tones emanated from the front parlour.
‘Well! The little sod!’ Ruth said angrily. ‘I warned him not to play the guitar, but you know what he’s like … doesn’t listen to a damned word I say.’
Oblivious to the fact that Tom was standing in wet clothes, she screeched at him, ‘Did you not hear what I said? If I’m going to the corner shop, I’ll need money.’
‘For pity’s sake, woman, let me catch my breath, will you!’ Not once had she asked how his day had been, or noticed that he was wet to the marrow. ‘I need to dry myself off …’
‘Oh, yes … you’re soaked, aren’t you!’ Stepping back a pace, she feigned concern. ‘You’d best dry yourself on the towel in the kitchen, while I go to the shop.’ She thrust her open palm beneath his face. ‘I’m waiting! The quicker you give me some money, the quicker I’ll be back.’
When she leaned forward to collect the little brown packet containing his wages, Tom could smell the other man on her; the thick tobacco odour that clung to her skin and lingered in her hair. Ruth smoked Woodbines, while it seemed this man rolled a stronger brand of tobacco.
The image of the man running from the ginnel raised a suspicion in his mind. He knew Len smoked roll-ups. Was it possible that he and Ruth had … No! It was too loathsome to imagine. Besides, any number of men smoked roll-ups.
He knew his wife had been with a man, though. The telltale tobacco odour had a woody smell, while her Woodbines were much sweeter. Over the years, Tom had learned to tell the difference.
With her wanton ways and devious nature, she had caused him a deal of misery, but now it no longer mattered. Now he had a plan. Whatever happened, Ruth was a survivor and would come through. It was young Casey he worried about, and to that end he had made contingencies.
Reaching into his coat, he took out the bag of fish and chips and handed it to her.
‘What’s this?’ She sniffed. ‘Fish and chips!’ Her face fell. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve spent good money on fish and bloody chips? Especially when I’d already planned sausage and mash. But, oh no! You had to take matters into your own hands, didn’t you, eh?’
Tom ignored her goading. ‘You just said yourself, you haven’t got the meal ready, so now you don’t have to bother, do you?’ Giving her a way out for not cooking a meal was becoming a regular occurrence.
He handed her the open wage packet. ‘There you are. Count it, if you like, while I go and put these out on plates before they get too cold to eat.’
‘Hey!’ She caught him by the arm. ‘You seem to forget, there are bills to be paid and I need to get your trousers out of Foggarty’s pawn shop. What you’ve given me is not enough. Oh, and while we’re at it, your son needs new shoes. How he wears ’em out so quick, I never will know!’
But with his troubling thoughts elsewhere, Tom was not listening.
‘Hey! I’m talking to you. What’s wrong with yer?’ Tom seemed too calm to her, too quick to back away from her attempt at an argument.
He looked up. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me except I’m starving. And, no doubt, so is Casey. And, as I recall, it wouldn’t be for the first time.’
‘Don’t you dare have a go at me!’ Ruth snapped. ‘I’ve already told you … I had a pile of ironing and other stuff to see to. Then some man came to the door, looking to sell me some rubbish. I got rid of him, though. Ask Casey, I’m sure he’ll tell you.’ She knew he would, and her idea was to get in first. ‘… And another thing, I’m really surprised at you opening your wage packet. You never do that as a rule.’
Tom looked her in the eye for what seemed an age. He wanted to tell her so many things. He needed to share his troubling thoughts, but she was not a woman to care one way or the other, so instead he answered in a quiet voice, ‘You’re right. I don’t open my wages as a rule, but sometimes, we need to break the rules, don’t we?’
Her face reddened with guilt. ‘That’s a strange thing for you to say.’ There was something really different about him tonight, she thought … something worrying. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found out that she was having a fling with Len. She nervously toyed with the idea that he might be saving the confrontation for later; possibly after Casey had gone to bed.
‘Course I’m all right.’
Tom threw off his coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and went into the scullery. He was surprised to see the back door wide open, and the rain coming in.
‘What’s going on, Ruth?’ There it was again, that niggling suspicion.
Panicked, she stuffed the wage packet into her pocket. ‘What d’you mean? There’s nothing “going on”.’
‘It’s raining, and the back door’s wide open.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Greatly relieved, she gave the first answer that came to mind. ‘I forgot to shut it after I came up from the yard …’
‘I thought you said you’d been changing the beds?’ Now he was in no doubt she was up to her old tricks again. She had been entertaining a man and, by the looks of it, he must have left in a hurry. Tom recalled the figure he’d seen running from the ginnel. He hoped the man was not Len, because that would be humiliation twice over.
Smiling sweetly, Ruth explained, ‘I changed the beds earlier, and then I remembered I’d left the back gate open. I was running in from the rain, and didn’t remember to shut the door behind me. Besides, Casey was yelling for me.’
Closing the door, she made a show of sympathy. ‘Aw, Tom! Just look at the state of you. Come ’ere … I’d best tend to you before I go.’ She lifted the towel from the rail and tenderly ran it through his wet hair, then over his hands and face. ‘That’s better. Now then, husband, you’d better fetch Casey while I put the fish and chips out. There’s nothing so urgent from the corner shop that it won’t wait till tomorrow.’
In truth, she felt too exhausted to go traipsing all the way down the street. That Len was too energetic and demanding for his own good, she mused with a sly little smile.
When Tom took the towel from her, she felt pleased with herself at having duped him yet again. ‘I’m sorry about not having the meal ready.’ Leaning forward, she brushed his face with a fleeting kiss.
Tom could not forget the figure running from the ginnel, and even now the thick aroma of rolled tobacco lingered on her.
When she pecked him on the cheek he simply nodded and moved away. Just now, the touch of her hands was repugnant to him. Making his way out of the scullery, he slung the wet towel into the laundry bin as he went.
As Tom headed for the front parlour, he could hear Ruth loudly complained, ‘I already had sausage and mash planned and now, what with you spending money on fish and chips, I’ve no idea how I’ll stretch it for the bills and everything.’
He called back, ‘You forget, I did that overtime. So you’ll manage. There’s more than enough money to pay the bills and get Casey’s new shoes. As for my trousers, you needn’t bother.’
He was convinced that she and Len had lain together, but he thrust the ugly suspicion aside andwith a quieter heart he quickened his steps.
Life could be very cruel, as he had recently learned only too well, and there was much to be afraid of. But this evening he could spend precious time with his son, and that was all he cared about.
For now.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_378bbf71-6e5c-5ff8-a816-27228a80a182)
OUTSIDE THE FRONT-ROOM Tom paused to listen. Casey had the heart and fingers of a true musician. His technique was not yet perfect, but his artistry was enchanting.
Leaning on the door jamb, his face suffused with pride, Tom murmured as though to the boy, ‘You do your daddy proud, my son. You’re not quite there with the chords, but it’s only a matter of time. More importantly, you’ve got a magic that can never be taught. And that’s what really counts.’
His eyes filled with tears. He despised what he must do. Time and again, he had tried desperately to think of an alternative, but there was none. So now he was resigned; impatient, even, to do the awful deed.
When the music stopped, Tom took a deep breath and gently pushed open the parlour door. ‘That was wonderful,’ he told the boy. ‘I’ve no doubt that one day you’ll make a fine musician.’
Happy to see his father, Casey put aside the guitar and ran to meet him, laughing out loud when Tom swung him in the air before hugging him close.
In that precious moment, with his son close to him, Tom almost lost sight of the path he had chosen. But nothing he could do or say would change what was already set in motion.
‘Was I really good?’ Casey asked when Tom set him down. ‘I asked Mam if I could play the guitar and she said yes. You’re not cross with me, are you?’
Faking a frown, Tom spoke sternly. ‘I should think so! Coming in here, playing my guitar without so much as a by-your-leave! Yes, of course, you’re in trouble. After we’ve eaten, you’re to wash all the dishes, and when that’s done, you’ll set about scrubbing the floor till I can see my face in it. After that, the back yard needs sweeping …’
Casey broke into a grin, and then both he and Tom were laughing out loud. ‘I knew you didn’t mean it,’ Casey giggled. ‘I knew you were only playing. Was I good, though, Daddy?’ he persisted. ‘Did I really play well?’
‘You did, yes. You’ve still a lot to learn, but you’re getting there, and I’m proud of you. Matter o’ fact, you’ve taken to the guitar like you were born to it.’ He ruffled the boy’s thick, brown hair. ‘Y’know what, son?’
‘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 you 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’d 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 across 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?’
Casey gave a nervous little nod. ‘Yes.’ Trembling, he never once looked at his mother, but as he closed the scullery door, he heard her screeching and ranting and, incredibly, she was now pleading.
‘Don’t go all cold on me, Tom,’ she was saying. ‘It’s all summat and nowt. I don’t want it coming between the two of us, and if you try and throw me out on the streets, I’ll make you rue the day, you see if I don’t!’
‘Oh, I see. You think I might throw you out and leave you destitute, is that it? Well! You could not be more wrong, but that’s not to say I shouldn’t throw you out. No, it’s me and Casey who are leaving. We can’t go on like this. After what just happened, I’ve got to mek sure the lad is safe.’
‘You’re not thinking straight, Tom. I’m the boy’s mother, and he belongs here, with me. The truth is, you couldn’t give a bugger what he wants, or you wouldn’t be so intent on splitting the family up.’
‘Don’t make the mistake of painting me with your own brush, Ruth,’ he told her. ‘All I want is for our son to grow up, safe and secure. He can’t do that here, not with you. In my father’s house he’ll have love and security. He’ll be allowed to choose what he wants in life, and he’ll be helped to achieve it, without threat or anger.’
Ruth was as determined to keep the boy with her, as Tom was to take him away. She had never wanted the child, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Tom and Casey sharing a life from which she was excluded. Well, she’d make damned sure Tom didn’t have it all his own way. ‘To hell with what you want! He’s staying here, and that’s an end to it!’ She ranted.
Fearing that his mother would escalate the row, Casey remained locked in the scullery, running the tap and splashing water over his face in an effort to drown out the sound of his parents’ angry voices.
He was afraid. He sensed something awful was about to happen, and he blamed himself. He must have done something wrong, something so terrible that he had set his parents at each other’s throats.
Outside, Ruth would not let up. ‘You’re up to some trick or other, I know you are. So, what is it? What spiteful thing are you planning?’ Made increasingly uneasy by Tom’s quiet mood, Ruth suspected he was not telling her the entire truth. But that was not the total sum of her fears. It dawned on her that if he left her and she was forced to make her own way, how would she manage? She had no work-skills. Through all the years they’d been wed, Tom had always provided for her, so she had never once needed to work. And she had no desire to start now. The idea of not having Tom there to bring in the money was a frightening prospect.
Oh, yes, she could always sell herself; she had done so often enough. But that was simply a sideline; a rewarding pleasure she was free to indulge in whenever the mood took her.
And anyway, what would she do when her figure went to seed, and the wrinkles ravaged her face? No man would look at her twice then, let alone lie with her. However old and unattractive she got, Tom was a man who would always do his duty and bring in a regular wage.
‘Please, Tom, don’t leave me,’ she played on his softer side. ‘I’ll change my ways, I really will.’
In all her married life she had never once belittled herself to plead with him, but the prospect of losing that wage packet on a Friday was too daunting.
‘Sit down, Ruth.’ Tom’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Gesturing to the chair, he waited, but she made no move.
‘Please, Ruth. Sit down. There is something I need to tell you.’ Though after everything that had happened here, he was beginning to think it might be unwise to share his own troubles with her.
Increasingly unnerved by Tom’s manner, she did as he asked. ‘The boy is a liar,’ she stoutly insisted. ‘The little bastard wanted to make you think I had a man in the bedroom, didn’t he, eh? Well, don’t listen to a word he says. Let me talk to him, and I’ll make him tell you the truth.’
Realising yet again that the time was not right to reveal his troubles, Tom decided to keep his own counsel.
‘Listen to me, Ruth,’ he said firmly instead. ‘I really don’t care whether you had a man in the bedroom or not.’ Reaching into his trouser-pocket, he took out the two keys and threw them onto the table, gratified when she shrank back in shock.
‘Whose keys are they? Where did you get them from?’ she asked, trying to regain her composure.
‘From the look on your face, you already know whose keys they are,’ Tom retaliated. ‘They belong to your new man friend, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you where I found them.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘I reckon you’d best get these back to him at the first opportunity … before his missus realises they’ve gone missing.’ He spoke in a disarmingly casual manner.
‘I’m truly sorry, Tom.’ Ruth feigned a tear. ‘All right! You caught me out, but it’s the first time Len’s been here, and I swear it will never happen again. You have my word on it.’
‘I really don’t care what you do any more,’ Tom reminded her. ‘The truth is, he can have you, because once me and Casey have gone from here, we won’t be coming back … ever.’
Tom was all too aware that in the greater scheme of things, there were other urgent issues they should be discussing. But even now he felt it wasn’t the moment to tell her.
Today, as always, she had managed to create a situation that prevented him from confiding in her. Instead, he had no option but to make other, drastic plans, with regard to their son.
He believed that, in view of what had taken place here tonight, he quietly smiled to himself. If he confessed the truth to her, he realised that Ruth would no doubt welcome his news.
All day, he had been in emotional and physical torment; aching to come home and share his news with her. Instead, he had finally discovered that there was no doubt she felt no love or feeling towards him at all.
That was a hard and painful thing for him to learn.
‘I know I’ve done wrong,’ Ruth persisted lamely, her voice trembling. ‘But you have my word, it won’t happen again. It were Len’s fault. He kept bothering me … coming to the door when he knew you wouldn’t be in. But nothing happened. I would never cheat on you with another man.’ Lies came so easily to her.
‘Enough, Ruth, I don’t want to hear any more.’ When she fell silent, Tom went on, his voice cold and unforgiving, ‘I’ve already said, you’re free to go with whichever man takes your fancy, and God only knows there have been enough of them over the years. Fool that I am, I’ve put up with your infidelities for too long, but no more. But all that aside, I won’t stand by while you take your spite out on the boy. That’s all over now. And so is our sham of a marriage.’
‘Please, Tom! You can’t mean that. We need each other. You love me, I know you do.’
‘Well, you’ve tested my love to the very limit. In the back of my mind, I think I knew what you were up to, but I hoped I was wrong. I didn’t want to risk losing you. But now Casey and I are going. I don’t care any longer what you do.’
He gave a small, whimsical smile. ‘I do care about our son, though, and having witnessed how you enjoy hurting him, I’m determined to get him away from here. He’ll be safe enough with his granddad Bob. Oh, and if you so much as show your face there, I’ll inform the authorities how you mercilessly beat the boy for nothing more than telling the truth.’
‘I won’t let you take him! You can bugger off if you want to, but you’re not taking the boy. He’s staying here with me. He’s nearly nine years old; before you can turn round he’ll be fourteen and off to work. That’s when he’ll be old enough to make up his own mind about where he wants to go, and who with. Till then, I’ll decide what’s best for him. He’s staying here, with me, where he belongs!’
‘Oh, I can see it all now. The truth is, you can hardly wait till he’s off to work and bringing home a wage packet. Of course, that’s why you’re so desperate to keep him. You see him as taking my place and earning the money to keep you in fags and idleness. You intend him to support you in the manner you’re used to, while turning a blind eye to the men friends you entertain under this roof.’
‘You’re wrong! I want him to stay here with me, because I’m his mother, and this is where he should be.’
‘Like hell, he should! You don’t give a damn for the boy. You never have. Five years from now, you’ll be too far gone to attract the men, and Casey will take over from me as breadwinner. Well, you can forget it. I’ve no intention of leaving my son here so’s you can ruin his life like you’ve ruined mine.’
Leaving her to reflect on his words, he crossed to the scullery and opened the door. ‘Are you ready, Casey?’
Casey switched off the taps. ‘Yes, Daddy.’
‘Right, then go upstairs and get what you need. You’re coming with me to stay with Granddad Bob.’
Keeping his gaze to the floor, Casey hurried across the parlour and up the stairs, where he began collecting a few belongings. He wasn’t sorry to be going, as long as he was with his daddy.
Downstairs, Ruth ranted on. ‘I’ll have him back before you know it,’ she warned. ‘I’m not done with you yet.’
‘Is that so?’ Tom was also determined. ‘Well then, I’ll make you a promise, shall I? If you try any of your tricks or if you go anywhere near him, I’ll make sure the authorities know what kind of a useless mother you are. They’ll know about the men you entertain, here in our home, with your own son able to hear what’s going on. And I’ll make sure they’re aware of what happened here today. You’ve never had any real love for that boy, and if I was to leave him here with you, I dread to think what might happen.’
Having filled a canvas bag with his few belongings, Casey emerged from the bedroom. He sat down on the stairs, listening, waiting for the angry voices to subside.
It seemed like an age before he dared venture to the parlour door, but when he felt his mother’s eyes on him he kept his gaze averted.
‘Are you ready, son?’ Tom placed an encouraging hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Casey looked into his father’s kindly face. ‘Are we taking the guitar?’
Tom smiled down on him. ‘Yes, so you go and fetch it, while I have a quiet word with your mother. Then we’ll be away from here.’
Relieved and happy that they were going to stay with Granddad Bob for a while, Casey made his way to the front parlour.
Turning to Ruth, who appeared to be in a quieter mood, Tom told her, ‘Oddly enough, I still have feelings for you, but I could never again want you as my wife … not in that way. Not after you’ve shared yourself with other men time and again.’
Ruth made no answer. Instead, while seeming to listen, she slyly glanced to the door, where Casey was now waiting, the guitar safe in its soft cover, and clutched tightly in his arms.
‘Ruth, d’you hear what I’m saying?’ Tom was slightly unnerved by her suddenly calm manner.
‘I’m listening.’ Her smile crept over him.
‘Once I leave here, I’ll be out of your life for good. I will never again set foot in this house, but it goes without saying I can’t speak for our son. Whatever he decides in the future is up to him, but he will always have a place in my father’s house.’
He desperately needed to share his close secret with someone; a secret that was playing heavily on his mind, especially now. He felt angry, and guilty and so alone. Sadly Ruth had never been the kind of woman a person might confide in.
Sensing a weakness about him, Ruth turned on the tears. ‘Please, Tom, don’t leave me destitute. I can’t afford to rent this house on my own. I love you both. I couldn’t bear it if you left.’
‘Sorry but the decision is made. Whatever the cost to me, I intend doing what’s right for Casey.’ Aware that Casey might hear, Tom lowered his voice. ‘The way you went for the boy was shocking. It showed real hatred. I must have been blind or stupid not to have seen it before.’
Realising he’d seen right through her, she boldly admitted, ‘You’re absolutely right, I do have a powerful hatred for the boy, so much so that I shrink inside whenever he comes near me. What’s more, I feel the same way about you … always have done.’
When he looked away she sidled up to him, her voice taunting. ‘So y’see? I don’t give a bugger whether you stay or go, but if you think I’ll hand you a divorce so you can opt out of supporting me financially, you’ve another thought coming.’
Tom instinctively drew back. ‘You don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of keeping him.’ Taking her by the arms, he held her tightly. ‘When did you ever show him any tenderness or guidance? Whenever he brought friends home, you couldn’t wait to get rid of them on some pretext or other. You made them feel uncomfortable, making nasty comments and belittling Casey in front of them, and now he has no friends at all. So, what does that say about you, eh?’
‘You’re twisting things! I was right to get rid of them! Besides, they weren’t real friends! They were cunning little buggers, and they were not welcome in my house.’
‘Your house, is it?’
‘Yes! My house, my son, and my decision. Besides, it’s a mother’s place to vet her son’s friends. What I did was for his own good.’
‘So, tell me, Ruth, if he’s your son, and you know what’s best for him, why did you never cuddle him or sit down and talk with him about school or the music he loves? Why do you never ask how he’s doing at his lessons, or praise him when he achieves something he’s proud of … like the time he played the guitar in assembly. Do you remember, how he came running home all excited, and you just brushed it aside, like it was nothing?’
‘All right! I’ll tell you why I didn’t want to make a fuss. It’s because, unlike you, I don’t want him turning into some kind of softie. Besides, any fool can tap their fingers against a piece o’ wood and make some kind o’ noise. It doesn’t mean they’re summat special.’
‘How would you know? That day, in front of all those parents, teachers and even classmates, our son poured his emotions into the music and the music touched a cord in everyone. He made me proud, but then I expect that’s something you could never understand.’
His words sent her mind reeling back to when she was younger. He was wrong to tell her she could never understand Casey’s talent, because she did understand. She had always understood and hated him all the more for it. In spite of her searching for the bad in him, she found only good. He was a normal boy, back-chatting at times and grating on her nerves when he stood up to her. Occasionally, he had proven to be as disobedient and aggravating as any other boy, but for all that, she recognised something special in him. Something intangible, which awakened the best in everyone, except her. In truth, she envied him.
Casey was everything she was not. He was kind while she was cruel. He needed her but she had never needed him. Unlike her, he had the capability to love, fiercely and with great pride, as in the way he loved Tom and Granddad Bob; while she was incapable of loving anyone. Over the years, she had watched the boy grow into a fine young person under Tom’s guidance, and every day she was punished because of it. Yet, she had never told, and never would.
Even as a baby, when Casey held up his chubby arms for a cuddle, she would turn away – much as she had turned away from her family, where she had looked in vain for love, and even from Tom, a man of principle. A hard-working man, who had always provided for her, and who had, from an early age, loved her without question.
Tom and the boy were not of her world. They were too safe, too predictable. Since childhood she had never wanted a safe world.
And for that, she had neither regrets, nor peace. She had hardened her heart, vowing never to let others hurt her, but they had hurt her, and the pain was like a living thing inside her. It had taught her that love could only ever bring pain.
‘RUTH!’
‘What now?’ Startled out of her reverie, she raged at him, ‘I won’t change my mind. I mean to keep the boy, and there is nothing you or your father can do about it. When the time comes, I’ll make sure he knuckles down, and learns a useful trade. You might be running away, but I won’t allow him to go. It won’t be long before he’ll need to take up his responsibilities. There’ll be no more time wasted on music and such, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘Not if I can help it, you won’t! His granddad thinks as I do.’
‘For pity’s sake, what’s wrong with you? He’s a boy, he should be outside playing football or fighting in the playground, or being trained for summat that might earn him a living, like building or plumbing. Instead he’s wasting his time holding a piece o’ wood and making noises that no one cares about. He’s useless, and the sooner he gets out of school and into a proper job, the happier I’ll be, and that’s the truth.’
Casey had retreated into the passage to lean forlornly against the far wall. ‘Look at him!’ Ruth screeched. ‘Hugging that damned guitar like it were summat precious. It’s nothing but a piece o’ wood, that’s all. Useless … like him!’
Deeply hurt, Casey stepped forward. ‘You don’t understand. When I played in assembly, everybody stood up and clapped. Miss Hardwick said it was beautiful, but you never heard me because you weren’t even there. You don’t care about anything I do.’ When the tears began to flow, he wiped his eyes and brought his sorry gaze to the floor.
Unmoved, Ruth rounded on Tom. ‘Now, see what you’ve done. You’ve got him thinking he’s summat special. He thinks that piece o’ wood is his future, but it’s not and never will be. It won’t earn him a wage, and it won’t make him a man. It’s nothing! D’you hear me?’
Suddenly she rushed across the room and grabbed the guitar out of Casey’s arms. Fighting Tom off as he tried to stop her, she smashed the instrument against the wall where the cover split open, shooting out splinters of wood and tangled strings.
‘That’s what I think of yer precious guitar.’
When she tried to raise the guitar again, Tom wrestled her onto a chair, his voice trembling with anger. ‘You know how much that guitar meant to Casey. Why would you do such a wicked thing?’
‘Huh! I don’t know why I didn’t smash that thing long ago,’ Ruth sneered.
Tom wrapped an arm about Casey’s shoulders. ‘It’ll be all right, son,’ he assured him. Carefully placing the broken instrument into its cover, he handed it to him, saying. ‘Take it with you, and wait for me at the end of the street.’
‘Yeah, go on!’ As the boy made his way along the passage, his mother’s vicious rantings followed him. ‘Get off to yer granddad Bob. Tell him not to mek you too comfortable, ’cause I’ll be along soon enough to fetch yer back!’
With Casey out of earshot, Tom turned on her. ‘What kind of creature are you?’ He remained outwardly calm, though he would gladly have throttled her there and then. ‘If I had any doubts about taking Casey away from here, you’ve just proved that I’ve made the right decision.’
Without another word, he walked out of the room and along the passage.
Ruth ran after him. ‘Think you’re the man, don’t yer, eh? If you try and take my son, I’ll ’ave the police on yer! You’ve no rights, d’you hear me? You’ve no rights!’
‘I’ve every right! Casey is my son, and I’m responsible for his safety. If you interfere, I warn you, Ruth, you’ll be starting something you might regret.’
‘Really? Well, I think you should know, if you try and fight me, you’ll be sorry. You can be sure o’ that.’
Tom was not impressed. ‘I know what you’re up to, but it’s not on.’
‘Huh!’ Her manner changed suddenly. With a sly, triumphant smile on her face, she spoke slowly, so the words would cut deep, ‘Casey … is not … your son.’
For what seemed an age, Tom gave no reply. He felt shocked and numbed, unable to comprehend what she had said.
Turning the knife, Ruth elaborated in a harsh and cruel voice. ‘Truth is, you raised another man’s bastard. After he was born, I used to watch you doting on him, hugging him like he was something precious. You never knew how much I longed to tell you the truth … to take the smile off yer face, but I never did. I’m telling you now, though. He was never yours, and he never will be.’
‘You’re a damned liar!’ Tom was shocked, then enraged. ‘You’ve stooped to many a dodgy thing in your time, but this is really evil. You’d better take back what you said. Take it back … now!’
‘I’m not lying, Tom. Not this time.’ Delighting in his distress, she pressed home her own version of the truth. ‘I’ve no idea who his father is, but I do know it’s not you, because it happened a short time before you and I lay down together. I tricked you, and like the gullible fool that you are, you never suspected; not even when I lied about him being born early. He’s an unwanted little bastard … made down a dark alley with some stranger who had more money than he knew what to do with.’
Stricken to the heart, Tom took her by the shoulders. ‘You’re a wicked, destructive woman, and your lies won’t get Casey back.’ He gripped her so tight she winced with pain. ‘He’s my son. Mine! D’you hear what I’m telling you? Casey is mine and he always will be. Nothing you say or do will ever change that.’
‘Oh, but you’re wrong. You’re not listening, Tom! It isn’t your blood that runs through the boy. It’s the blood of a stranger who never knew what he’d made, and probably couldn’t care less anyway. When the pleasure was over, he went his way and I went mine.’
Her words were like a knife through Tom’s heart. In his mind he went back to the day she told him she was pregnant. Had he really been so gullible?
Now the truth was out after all these years, it was as if a dam had broken in Ruth and the words poured out. ‘Do you remember all that time you were after me, and I turned you away; but then you finally came in useful … if you see what I mean?’ She gave a sly little grin. ‘When I found I were up the duff, I moved Heaven and Earth to be rid of it, but for some reason it wouldn’t be budged, more’s the pity. But there you were, all doe-eyed and in love. I never had any real feelings for you in that way. You were simply a way out of my dilemma. When I told you we were having a baby, oh, you were over the moon. So excited, planning this and that …’ she laughed out loud, ‘… and you never knew that your joy had been another man’s pleasure before we were ever married.’
While Tom took all this in, she watched his agony and felt nothing. ‘The thing is, I’ve done you a favour. You won’t want to be saddled with him now, will yer, eh? Not now you know the truth. He’s not so special after all. Think about it, Tom. For all we know, his real father might have been a dodgy sort with a badness that could rise in the boy at any time. Then there’s the matter of my own blood running through his veins … the blood of a woman you believe to be wicked. Maybe the boy’s a chip off the old block. What if his real father turns out to be some sort of villain, a wanted killer, even?’ The thought amused her. ‘What about that, eh?’
‘Never!’ Though reeling from what she’d told him, Tom ferociously defended the child’s good nature. ‘Casey is nothing like you! He’s good and fine. I’ve raised him to know the right way to live. I’m proud of his every achievement, and I’ve always encouraged him into doing what he loves and what he’s good at. That’s what a father does, and that’s what I am: Casey’s father. I held him when he was born and I’ve nurtured him ever since. I love him and he loves me, and there’s a powerful father-and-son bond between us. No man alive could be prouder of his son than I am of Casey … my son.’
The more distressed he became, the more Ruth revelled in it. ‘Tell him!’ she urged. ‘Go out there and tell him he’s not your son. Then we’ll see who he’ll want to stay with. Tell him he can be with you – someone who had no part in creating him – or he can stay here where he belongs, with his blood mother, the woman who carried him inside her for nine months; the woman who gave birth to him, and raised him, and made sure he had a roof over his head. Tell him how I was made to use my wiles and make sacrifices, to be with a man I didn’t love, so he would always be provided for.’
When he made no move, she rounded on him. ‘Go on! Tell him the truth! Because if you don’t, I will!’ She would much rather Tom told the boy, because then Tom would be outcast instead of her.
But Tom was determined. ‘Casey is my son and I’m his father, and if you tell him anything other, I swear I’ll kill you!’
Seeing him like this, so cold and unforgiving, she took an involuntary step back. ‘Big words for such a little man.’
Tom wisely ignored her remark. ‘I mean it. That boy has gone through enough already, without you telling him he was spawned in some dark alley by his tart of a mother and some stranger who’s long gone.’
‘Sorry, Tom, but the boy has a right to know. So, like I say, if you don’t tell him, I surely will.’
In that moment Tom actually entertained the idea of putting his two hands round her neck and strangling the life out of her. By God, he was sorely tempted.
‘Alongside my own father, Casey is the only good thing in my life,’ he told her. ‘I need to know he’s safe and secure.’
Thrusting her aside, he started down the passage, Ruth right behind him, ranting and raving, telling him how he could not stop her from getting to the boy.
‘If not today, then tomorrow. Either way, you’ve lost him, Tom. But then, he was never yours anyway.’
When Tom tried to get out of the door, she leaped forward to catch him unawares. Grabbing his hair, she caught him off balance and fought him down. But Tom was the stronger. Having swiftly wrestled her to the carpet, he made a dash for the door.
When she clambered up, intent on forcing him back, he instinctively hit out and sent her sprawling. Before she could get up, he was away down the street, the only thought in his mind to find Casey.
Spread-eagled on the floor, Ruth made no effort to get up. ‘You won’t have him for long!’ she shouted after him. ‘When I tell your dad the truth, he won’t even want the little bastard in his house!’
Tom ran down the street, leaving her yelling obscenities. ‘You’ve not heard the last o’ me! I’ll get him back, even if I have to fight you in court.’
Deliberately closing his ears to her screeching, he grew increasingly anxious that Casey might have overheard what she’d said earlier, and her vile threats played on his mind. She’s lying! he tried to convince himself. Casey is my son. She would say anything to suit her own ends; even labelling her own child a bastard. But she won’t get her claws into him, not if I have anything to do with it.
But he knew that keeping her at bay would not be easy and because of his own unfortunate predicament, might even be beyond his control.
‘Dear Lord, what am I to do?’ Slowing his steps, Tom glanced up at the shifting skies and, for the strangest moment, he felt a great sense of peace. The kind of peace that warmed and reassured; easing the restless soul.
But then he thought of the jeopardy Casey was in, and his peace was short-lived.
As he went down the street, calling out for Casey, the next-door neighbours were at the front door looking out. Sylvia Marshall and her husband, William, had lived next to the Denton family these past nine years. Having soon learned that she was trouble, they had given Ruth a wide berth, but they always had a smile for Tom and his son, Casey.
‘I’m worried.’ William was anxious. ‘Something went a hell of a bang. I’m wondering if somebody might be hurt.’
‘Well, thank goodness it’s not Tom or the boy, because we’ve just seen them go off down the street … poor little devil, having to put up with a mother like that! And if Tom’s given that wife of his a good slapping, then it’s no more than she deserves.’ Having overheard a snippet of the argument that had raged on, she could only guess at the rest.
‘I ought to go and see if everything’s all right.’
‘You keep your nose out of it and don’t interfere. They’ve rowed before, and no doubt they’ll row again. She thrives on trouble, you should know that by now.’
Sylvia, however, found herself talking to thin air as her husband followed the shouts and abuse that came from the Denton house. ‘Oh, my!’ At the door, he saw Ruth lying there, still loudly complaining. She appeared half dazed and there was a trickle of blood running down her face. When she madly struggled to get up off the floor, the ornaments fell off the side table one after the other.
‘Whatever’s happened? Here … let me help you …’
As William began to make his way into the house, Ruth gave him a barrage of abuse. ‘Bugger off out of it!’ Snatching a small ornament, she sent it flying through the air, to land at his feet. ‘You’d best clear off before I get up … or you’ll rue the day!’
When he came running back indoors, his wife was in fits of laughter. ‘You silly old fool! I told you not to go, but you never listen, do you?’
‘Hmm!’ Without another word, he skulked into the parlour, lit up his pipe, and sat there, contemplating life and thanking his lucky stars he had married a sensible, understanding wife.
Away from Henry Street, Tom was growing frantic. Casey was nowhere to be seen. He was not in the street, nor was he at the bus stop, and each time he called out, Tom was greeted with silence.
After widening his search beyond Penny Street, he wended his way back to Henry Street. At the back of his mind Tom worried that the boy might have overheard the row. If so, it would have been a devastating shock, flooding Casey’s young mind with all manner of imaginings. Tom hoped with all his heart that the one thing Casey had not heard was his mother’s shocking confession.
Suddenly Tom recalled the place where Casey would go whenever he wanted to be alone or quiet; mostly after school and before his daddy was home. That was the time when Ruth might send him out – so she could entertain her men friends, Tom now knew.
He remembered how much Casey loved the peace and quiet of the Blakewater, a long, winding brook that ran behind Henry Street and on through the lowlands of Blackburn. He quickened his steps towards the place.
Once there, he paused to look over the little stone bridge, and was greatly relieved to see Casey below. A small bundle of humanity scrunched in a heap on the wet cobbles, he was sobbing bitterly, his arms wrapped round the guitar and his head bent low.
Saddened at the sight of that small, innocent child hunched up in the cold and so deeply distressed, Tom thought of where the blame lay. He suspected the worst: that Casey must have heard his mother’s damning confession; that the man he had always known and loved as his father was not his father at all.
Tom felt helpless. While he himself was trying to come to terms with her wicked claim, he could not even imagine the trauma Casey was going through. His heart went out to him.
‘Casey!’ Tom called out.
When there was no answer, he took off at a run, over the bridge and down the slope, where he slithered and slipped on the shifting cobbles. ‘Casey. You had me worried, son. I’ve been searching everywhere for you!’
Casey appeared not to have heard or, as Tom suspected, he chose not to respond.
A few minutes later, Tom was seated cross-legged alongside the child.
‘I’m sorry about earlier, about the shouting and the things that were said, but none of it was your fault, son. Don’t ever think that.’ Deciding it might be wiser not to elevate the situation, Tom slid a comforting arm about Casey’s shoulders. ‘I’m just glad you’re safe. When I couldn’t find you, I got really concerned.’
Tom waited for him to speak. The boy, though, remained silent, afraid to open a conversation that might prove his fears were all too real.
Tom understood. In some inexplicable way he, too, felt immensely safe in those familiar surroundings, and, again like Casey, he was momentarily lost in the peace of that place.
This dark, dank area beneath the Blakewater bridge could never be described as beautiful. Beneath life’s traffic, and surrounded by brick buildings and stone walls, a visitor might be forgiven for thinking he was deep in the bowels of the earth. The air was thick with a pervading stench of rotting food and other perishables routinely thrown into the water from the bridge, yet, for all that, there was something magical about this place. Here an unquiet soul felt safe and uniquely comforted. Unlike people, this ancient bridge would not desert or hurt you.
Now quieter of heart, Tom glanced about him at the tall, ancient walls that had stood for an age, thick and solid, and strong enough to support the houses that had rested on those reliable stone shoulders for many an age.
At certain times, after heavy rains, the shifting stream of Blakewater would rise to cover the walls and flood the passageways into the back yards. Carried by the high water, rats would swim through into the house cellars. Many scampering rodents lost their lives when the frightened residents beat them with spades and threw their corpses back into the swirling, stinking waters.
When the water receded, the rats were carried off, and the walls were left covered in a coat of dark slime, which dripped relentlessly until a brighter day arrived to dry it off.
Now, softly breaking the silence, the delicate splashes of water trickled over the cobbles to create a unique melody. Above them, with the evening closing in fast, the streetlamp cast a flickering, eerie shadow over the fading day.
‘You love it here, don’t you?’ Tom said softly. ‘I can understand why.’ He chided himself for not searching here earlier for the boy.
‘Yes, it’s my favourite place.’ Casey did not look up.
Tom smiled. ‘Mine too.’
Surprised by Tom’s admission, the boy peeped at him out the corner of his eye. ‘When you were little, did you ever run along the bridge wall?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Were you frightened?’
Tom laughed out loud. ‘I were terrified!’
‘So, why did you do it then?’
‘Because …’
‘Because what?’ Casey kept his gaze averted, his arms wrapped round his knees and his head bent as before, but now his face was turned sideways as he gazed up. He felt a deeper sense of security now that Tom was there.
‘Well … because …’ Momentarily lost for words, Tom cast his mind back over the years. ‘Because I think I must have taken leave of my senses.’
When Casey laughed at that, Tom laughed with him, and the sound rippled softly through the air, causing some frightened creature to scurry away under the bridge.
There followed another small silence, before Casey confided his secret. ‘They wanted me to do it, but I never did.’
‘Well, thank God for that!’ Tom shivered inwardly at the way these children regularly risked life and limb, running along a six-inch-wide wall some twenty feet above the water. ‘So, who was it that wanted you to do it?’
‘School pals.’
‘Who were they?’
‘There were two Brindle brothers, and another boy who lives on King Street.’
‘Oh, the Brindles … big family. Yes, I know them.’
‘Well, the Brindle brothers had a race in bare feet. One of them ran on the far wall, and the other ran along the opposite wall. I had to count from one to ten, and see who got to the other side first.’
‘So, who won?’
‘Nobody. They got to the other side at the same time. On a count of eight.’
‘A draw, eh? Well, I think that was OK, don’t you? At least it stopped them from arguing.’
‘No, because they still argued. They said I must have counted wrong, but they were so fast, it was frightening. They ran like the wind … slipping and sliding all over the place, they were. I thought they might fall into the water, but it didn’t even bother ’em! They kept their balance, and made it to the other side.’ When he looked up at Tom, the light from the lamp caught the excitement in his eyes. ‘You should have seen them go, Dad!’
‘I can imagine.’ The Brindle family was boisterous, with the boys, in particular, always up to something.
‘They made it look so exciting, I really wanted to try.’
‘You never did, though, did you?’
Casey gave a huge sigh. ‘No, but sometimes I wish I had.’
‘So, what stopped you?’
‘I tried once, but my foot slipped and I could hardly keep my balance, so I chickened out.’
‘That was very brave.’
The boy gasped. ‘How could it be brave, when I chickened out?’
‘Because sometimes it’s better to admit that it’s too dangerous and stop, instead of going on when your instincts warn you not to.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Yes, really. It takes a wise man to admit when he’s made a wrong decision.’
When Casey suddenly leaned his head on his father’s broad shoulder, it was a tender, deeply bonding moment in which each relived the awful situation that had brought him here.
Eventually the child asked hesitantly, ‘She hates me, doesn’t she?’
‘Are we talking about your mam?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Tom carefully considered his next words, because whatever he said, he could not deny that Ruth had caused a great deal of pain and confusion especially with her cruel revelation to himself.
Casey’s next words only proved the damage Ruth had done. ‘I don’t want to stay with her. I want to be with you and Granddad.’
‘That’s fine, then, because that’s where we’re going.’
Another awkward moment of silence before Casey needed to know, ‘Are you my daddy? Are you really my daddy?’
Choking back the rush of emotion, Tom turned the boy round to face him. ‘I want you to listen to me, son. I want you to hear my every word and never forget it. Can you do that for me?’
When Casey nodded, Tom held him tight before telling him softly, ‘In every way that matters, I truly am your daddy. Your name is Casey Denton, and you are the son of Thomas Denton … that’s me. I was there when you were born, and I was the first one to hold you, after the nurse. Then I placed you tenderly into your mammy’s arms, and the two of us loved you so much, we never wanted to let you go. So, you see, it’s always been the three of us.’
‘So, when I was born she held me. That means she must love me, eh?’
Tom assured him that it was so.
Casey was unsettled, however, his mind questioning everything that Tom said. ‘But if she loved me when I was born, why doesn’t she love me now?’
It was a difficult question for Tom. On the day when Casey was born, Ruth had held him for less than a minute, her manner cold and hard as she returned the baby to him. ‘I don’t want it! Take it back.’ The vehemence in her voice had shaken him to the core.
Unconcerned, the nurse had taken the baby from him and placed him tenderly into the prepared cot.
Afterwards, when he was leaving, the nurse had urged Tom not to be upset by his wife’s words. ‘I promise you, your wife is not the first to reject her newborn. She’s had a very long, painful labour and an extremely difficult birth. Rejecting the baby in the first flush is not an unusual reaction. She’ll come round. They always do.’
After a while, Ruth appeared to have accepted the boy, and no more was said.
Through Casey’s formative years, however, there were occasions when Ruth had shown hostility towards her son. Tom had chosen to dismiss it, but tonight, when she claimed to hate the boy, the awful truth was driven home to him. Ruth really did harbour a sense of hatred towards her son.
‘I don’t think she loves me at all.’ Casey’s voice startled Tom out of his thoughts. ‘Why doesn’t she love me?’
Taking that small face between the palms of his hands, Tom gently wiped away the tears. ‘In all honesty, I don’t know what to tell you, Casey, except that I’m sure she does have feelings for you. The thing is, do any of us know what love really means? Y’see, son, it can mean different things to different people.’ He felt totally out of his depth; wanting to comfort the boy, yet not wanting to lie to him. ‘As for myself, I believe that when you love someone, you have a deep urge to protect them. You want them always to be happy, and never to get hurt, and you’ll do anything to make them safe. That’s what I personally believe love means.’
He paused to gather his thoughts, before going on. ‘But y’see, Casey, not everyone thinks of it in the same way. Someone else might think that love means moulding a person so that he or she can learn to protect themselves and be safe from harm. They want their loved ones to be strong enough to reach their potential in life. They believe that being hard and demanding to their loved ones is the right way to be, even though it could make them appear cruel.’
‘But she is cruel. She never cuddles me. She likes to hurt me, and make me cry.’
Tom was deeply saddened by the child’s words. ‘The thing is, Casey, people like your mother don’t know any other way. They think that cuddling and being soft is wrong, and that their way is best.’
For what seemed an age, Casey remained silent. Then, looking Tom in the eye, he told him in a clear voice, ‘I don’t like her, and I don’t like that kind of love, and I don’t want her to be my mam any more.’
‘That’s your choice, son, and I respect that. You have every right to speak your mind. But you must never hate, because hatred is a terrible, destructive thing. It’s like I was saying, we’re all different, and we all deal differently with particular situations. I agree … some people’s kind of love is complicated. It isn’t for you and it isn’t for me either, but people can’t help the way they are, and though we might not care for their kind of love, we have to accept it. That’s just the way it is.’
‘So …’ in his young mind, Casey tried to make sense of it all, ‘… you’re telling me that my mam really does love me, only in a different way?’
‘Well, yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘So, why did you take me away from her? Why did you say you never want me to live with her again?’
Realising that Casey had heard more than he’d first thought, Tom gave him a simple explanation that he hoped would finish the conversation right there. ‘Well, the way I see it is this. You said yourself that you didn’t like her kind of love.’
‘I don’t!’
‘OK. So, if you stayed with her, you would be unhappy, is that right?’
‘Yes!’
‘And you might refuse to accept her kind of love and even fight against it, because you think she’s cruel and unkind. So, there might be arguments and fights and she would get angry and hit out. And the whole situation would escalate into a war between you. Am I right?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to live with her, because she’s too cruel. She tells lies, and she hit me with her fists, and she smashed up the guitar.’ Scrambling to his feet, he began to cry. ‘I don’t want her to love me any more. I’m glad you took me away because I don’t want her. I only want you and Granddad Bob.’
‘And that’s your final decision, is it?’ Tom was satisfied that his attempted interpretation of Ruth’s ‘love’ for Casey had somehow helped; making him realise that, his mother had proved herself to be more than capable of making his life a misery, and that it was all right for him to leave.
It was a huge source of comfort to Tom that his boy would be out of harm’s reach, and safely settled with his granddad.
‘Come on then, son.’ Securing the guitar over Casey’s shoulder, he swung him into his arms. ‘We’d best go and tell Granddad Bob.’
‘Will you tell him how Mam smashed up your guitar?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll see that for himself.’
‘He won’t be pleased.’
‘You’re right. He won’t.’
‘What else will you tell him?’ Casey remembered the man who he heard in his mother’s bedroom, and the others who had been there before him.
Suspecting the reasoning behind this question, Tom feigned a chuckle. ‘I’ll tell him he’s got two smelly lodgers from the Blakewater, and that we both need a hot bath.’
‘And that we’re cold and hungry, eh?’ Casey was excited.
‘OK, that too.’
‘Yeah!’ Casey was famished. ‘If Granddad’s made a meat and potato pie, there might be some left over.’
With that in mind, they headed for the nearest bus stop, where they sat on the wooden bench to wait.
When, some ten minutes later, the bus arrived, the two of them climbed aboard and seated themselves on the seat furthest from the doors. ‘We’ll be far enough away from the draught here,’ Tom decided.
Tom bought two single tickets to Preston New Road. From there, they would walk down to Addison Street, where he was born and grew up.
Realising how much was at stake following his decision, he was deeply apprehensive. So many things to think about. So much responsibility. Of late, he had been called upon to take the most important decisions of his life. Heart-breaking decisions that would affect those he loved. He had never wished to be in this situation, but now that he was, he had to face it with hard determination, or be lost.
There was too much to think about, too much that he did not understand. He was forced to act, and he did so after long deliberation, and with a sad heart. There was much regret and, more importantly, too much left unsaid.
‘Daddy!’
Casey’s raised voice startled him. ‘Ssh! Don’t be so loud, Casey. There are other people on this bus.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad, but I need to ask something.’
‘All right, I’m listening. What is it you want to say?’
‘I just wanted to know … if you were sad?’ The memory of that awful row between his parents had really unsettled him.
Smiling assuredly, Tom answered, ‘Well, I might have been just a little bit sad, but I’m happy enough now. What about you?’
‘I’m really happy now, ’cause I’ll be with you and Granddad.’ Easier of heart, the boy resumed looking through the window; and while he counted the streetlamps as they flashed by, Tom turned his mind to other, burning issues.
His thoughts were torn between his own dear father, and this darling boy whom he loved with a passion. They were his responsibility, and he could not help but be afraid for them.
Ruth was a born survivor. With tooth and nail, she would always find a way. Surprisingly, even though she had caused him anguish over the years, Tom was still able to think of her in a kindly way.
A long time ago he had stopped trying to fathom her sudden bouts of wicked temper and the spiteful manner in which she flew at the boy for any reason. Yet though her behaviour maddened him at times, he could find no lasting hatred in his heart towards her.
Through the years, his love for her had been tested many times, but he could not deny the affection he felt towards her. Yes, she was a cheat, and yes, she could be cruel and violent at times. But even though the boy might have come from another man’s seed – though Tom hoped that was not the case – Ruth had still given him the best gift any woman could give her man. She had offered him a son to love and raise, and he had come to love the boy, heart and soul.
Soon, though, young Casey would be sorely tested, and right now Tom prayed he had provided him with the right tools to deal with life. Because all too soon, it would be time for him to leave.
When Tom looked up, Casey smiled at him, a trusting, innocent smile.
Tom returned the smile, but behind it lay a great reservoir of loneliness, and a forlorn hope that he might be forgiven for what he soon must do.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5d8bcd9c-ef61-5e91-b26a-cfd24ef39c86)
FOR A MAN in his mid-sixties, Bob Denton was both strong and able, though, as was to be expected, he suffered the aches and pains of increasing age.
A contented man, he considered himself to be fortunate in having married the girl he loved and fathered a wonderful son. He would have liked more children, but Tom was destined to be the only one. The joy he brought was immeasurable and he had been a huge comfort to his father when, some nine years ago, Tom’s mother had died of TB.
That had been a desperately trying time for both Tom and his father, and, sharing the grief as best they could, they drew strength from each other.
Tom had married Ruth about that time, and his marriage and the birth of his son had given him a degree of consolation. Bob, meanwhile, feverishly immersed himself in his work at the quarries, and when young Casey was born, the old man’s heart was happier than it had been for months. Seemingly gifted with a deep love and a joyful ability for music, the boy had given him another reason to keep going. Bob still missed his lovely woman – that would never change – but he tried to move on in life as best he could.
The previous year, Bob had retired from work, so now all he had was his son and his grandson, two people he loved more than life itself. As for Ruth, he had tried many times to befriend her, but she was not an easy woman to get close to. In the end, he had no choice but to give up trying, yet it was a situation he still fretted over.
Like it or not, Ruth carried the name of Denton. She was his daughter-in-law, the wife of his only son, and the mother of his only grandchild, but because she had little time for him, he hardly knew her.
He had always considered that to be a great pity.
Having eaten his dinner and washed the dishes, Bob was now putting them away in the cupboard. Got to keep the place tidy, he thought. As my lovely woman used to say, ‘You never know when you might get visitors.’
Like the rest of this lived-in kind of house, the kitchen was a homely place, not ‘posh’, and certainly not pristine. A well-worn, crinkled mat was at the door, and a row of pretty floral teacups decorated the shelves of the kitchen cabinet. More often than not, there was a used cup on the draining board, next to the tea caddy, and beside that was a barrel of biscuits.
Many things were naturally reused. Every morning Bob would scrunch up yesterday’s newspaper and spread it beneath the wood and coal in the fire grate. Later, when he slumped in his favourite armchair to smoke his pipe and read his paper, he would light the fire, and enjoy the evening warming his toes, and eating his hot stew. If there was any stew left over, he’d always take it down to the butcher, who would be very grateful. ‘I’ll give it to the pigs,’ he would say. ‘Mek the meat taste that much richer, eh?’ Bob told him he didn’t want that information, thank you. It was enough to know that the leftovers were of a use to him.
This little house was Bob’s castle. It had known much love and laughter – a house adorned with mementoes of good times – and when you went inside it was like a pair of strong arms wrapping themselves about you, covering you with warmth and love, which over the years had steeped into the walls for all time.
Arranged on the sitting-room walls were many beautiful sketches of local landscapes, each and every one lovingly created by Bob’s talented wife, Anne.
With much love and a true painter’s eye, she had sketched the green, meandering fields around Pleasington: the town hall on a sunny day; the canal with its colourful barges; even a painting of Addison Street, with its loaf-shaped cobbles and tall iron streetlamps, which lit the way home at night, and provided the supports for children’s swings during the day.
It was said that once you’d enjoyed the unique experience of Addison Street, you would never forget it. If you approached the street from the bottom, you had to lean your body forward at a sharp angle, in order to climb to the top.
But if you approached Addison Street from Preston New Road at the top, you would need to be feet first and leaning backwards, in the opposite direction.
Negotiating the street from top to bottom was either foolhardy, or an act of sheer bravery, the locals claimed. It was so impossibly steep that you could never adopt a leisurely pace, though with legs slightly bent and your whole body leaning backwards for balance, you might start off with that intention. The first few steps might give you the confidence to accelerate slightly, but unless you had a desire to be catapulted into Never Never Land, you would be well advised to take it slowly; though that might be harder than you envisaged.
Inevitably you would find yourself increasing pace, going faster and faster, until you started running; by that point, in an uncontrollable and terrifying manner. With your best hat flown away, and hair standing on end, your last resort would be to pray you might get to the bottom without injury.
Once there, with shattered nerves and a fast-beating heart, you’d be anxious to resume your journey on level ground, promising yourself that never again would you be so careless of life and limb.
Some wary adults learned to negotiate the street by walking sideways with their backs to the wall as they edged along; others were known to hang onto the door handles as they inched their way down. And a few staunch heroes might brave the ordeal with a forced smile on their faces.
Most adults dreaded the ordeal of negotiating Addison Street, but children would happily throw caution to the winds as they ran from top to bottom, whooping and hollering. When it seemed they might take off and launch themselves into the wild blue yonder, they would catch hold of a passing lamppost and swing round and round until they fell in a dizzy heap on the pavement.
Some said it was better than a free funfair, while Granddad Bob claimed it was his beloved Addison Street that kept him ‘fit for owt’.
Having just tidied the kitchen, Bob planned to amble his way to the back parlour, where he would settle down with pipe and paper, and choose a likely winning horse from the racing page.
As he went into the passageway, he was surprised and slightly irritated by a determined knock on the door.
He opened the front door, delighted to see Tom and Casey.
‘Well, I never!’ Opening his arms, he took the boy into his embrace before inviting him to, ‘Get yer coat off an’ help yourself to a ginger biscuit from the barrel in the kitchen cabinet. Oh, and by the way, your comics are still in the drawer, if you’re wondering.’
Curious, he glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was almost 8 p.m. At this time of evening, the boy should be at home, getting ready for his bed. And when Tom hung his coat up, the old fella noticed that he was still in his working clothes. That was odd, he thought worriedly. ‘Come through, lad. Looks to me like we need to talk, eh?’
Leaving the boy to his biscuits and comic, Bob led his son to the back parlour, where Tom stood with his back to the fireplace, while his father sat himself in the big old armchair.
‘What’s wrong, lad?’ Though a working man, married with a child, Tom was always referred to by his father as ‘lad’. In an odd way, it gave him a sense of comfort, but not tonight, because tonight, there was nothing on earth that might comfort him.
‘I’ve left her.’ Tom spoke softly so the boy might not hear. He was not proud of his decision, however justified it might be. Nor was he proud of the awful burden he was about to heap on this dear man. ‘We’re not going back, Dad. Not ever!’
When his father made no response, Tom saw the worry in his face. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I know it was a drastic step to take, but this time, she’s gone too far.’ In his mind’s eye he could see Ruth wildly attacking Casey, and the boy flinching from her, his arms held high in a feeble effort to protect himself.
‘I see.’ Bob gave a small, understanding smile. ‘You had another bad set-to with Ruth, am I right?’
‘Yes.’ He had no intentions of revealing the shocking thing Ruth had confessed to him about the stranger in the alley being Casey’s true father.
‘Hmm. Well now, with you and Ruth at loggerheads, and all things taken into account, I can mebbe understand you not wanting to go back, but have you considered what Casey wants? Oh, I know he’s not yet of an age when he can reason for himself, but he has a quick mind and a voice with which to express his own views. I trust you’ve taken his feelings into account when you say you’re “never” going back? And besides, who’s to say this upset with Ruth won’t blow over, like they’ve done many times before?’
‘Not this time, Dad.’
‘So, why not this time? What’s gone on between the two of you that’s so unforgivable it can’t be put right?’
Tom felt the anger rise in him. ‘It can’t ever be put right, Dad, because, like I say, this time she’s gone too far altogether!’
‘But in what way?’
‘It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is, she’s shown her true colours. Take my word, Dad, me and Casey are well out of it. I want nothing more to do with her. It was Casey himself who asked me to bring him here, so he could live here with you. He told me he never wants to go back there.’
For a long, tense moment, the air was thick with Tom’s outburst. Then, almost in a whisper, Bob revealed what was on his mind. ‘This upset between you and Ruth … a man, was it?’
For some time now, he had overheard snippets of worrying gossip. He kept them to himself, because like many a parent, he believed any problems should be taken care of inside the relationship, though it seemed in this particular case that might be too much to ask. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, lad? That wandering wife o’ yourn has been cheating on you again.’
Tom was shocked. ‘What makes you ask that?’ He had no idea that his father was aware of Ruth’s seedy other life.
‘Oh, lad! I might be long in the tooth, but I’m not a fool.’ When under pressure, Bob had a habit of biting his bottom lip, which he did now. ‘The thing is, I’ve heard mutterings now and then. I had hoped it was just idle gossip amongst folks who’d got nothing better to do. I’m sorry, Tom. I should have known there’s no smoke without fire. So, is it true then … what they say?’
Tom merely nodded, his sense of shame increasing tenfold.
Getting out of his chair, Bob went to the door and softly closed it. Then he laid his broad, comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘You and the boy can stay ’ere as long as you need to. I’ll not ask any questions, and I’ll not intrude in your marriage … unless o’ course you need me to. Whichever way you want to handle it, lad, I’m here for you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Tom was deeply moved by his father’s support. ‘I promise you, Dad, I haven’t taken this step lightly. For a long time now, I’ve tried to keep the marriage together, mainly for Casey’s sake – you’ve no idea how I’ve tried – but she doesn’t love us … not me, and certainly not the boy.’
In that moment, he believed he was the one who had failed, and that things could only get worse. It broke his heart to realise that, out of all this chaos, the person who would be hurt most was young Casey.
As Tom hung his head and choked back the tears, his father held him close. ‘It’ll be all right, son,’ he said. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, me and you … and our precious boy.’
Tom gave no answer. Instead he kept his head buried in his father’s shoulders until his sobs began to subside.
The old man also had tears in his eyes. ‘Hey, come on now, lad. Don’t let the boy see you like this. Best get to your bed, eh? Right now, your mind is all over the place. In the morning, we’ll all be thinking clearly, then we’ll talk it through, and deal with it.’
Holding Tom at arm’s length, he was relieved when Tom smiled back at him. ‘That’s better, son. So, is my plan a good ’un, d’you think?’
‘Yeah, Dad. As good as any I’ve heard.’
When his father seemed relieved, Tom regretted not being able to tell him about the other matter that haunted him. For some time now, Tom had been on the brink of confiding in that dear man, but he could not bring himself to burden him with such crippling news, even though he knew his father would move Heaven and Earth to bring him a measure of peace.
So now, as he thanked his father for accommodating him and Casey, Tom managed a smile; though it was a shallow effort.
Tom was well versed in putting on a brave face, so the old man had no idea that his son was carrying a much heavier burden than he was yet ready to reveal.
Sometimes in life, bad things happened and there was no real explanation as to why. All Tom knew was that these past weeks had been almost unbearable. There was no way for him to ease his mind, and no way he could share the load. So, he carried the burden alone; praying that somehow, his instincts might lead him to do the right thing, for everyone; especially his son.
Somewhere deep inside himself, Tom wanted to believe that Ruth did love the boy, and yet her every word, look and action showed only hatred. Casey felt her rejection of him, and in turn he began to lose both respect and love for his mother. It was a difficult situation, which over the years, had widened the rift between Tom and his wife, and made him love his son even more.
His thoughts now turned to his father. The truth was that however the darling old man might want to ‘work out’ his son’s problems, there was no way that could ever happen. What was done was already done, and there could be no turning back.
In her seemingly cruel way, Fate had intervened.
The dice were thrown and there were no winners.
‘I reckon you’d best get the boy to bed, afore he falls asleep on the kitchen floor.’ Tom was jolted out of his thoughts by his father’s timely reminder.
‘I’ll do that right now,’ Tom answered. ‘Mind you, I don’t suppose he’d care much if we left him there till morning.’
‘Well, we’re not having that. So, go on, you put your son to bed, and meantime I’ll get us a drop o’ summat good to warm the cockles.’ Reaching out, he patted Tom on the arm. ‘How does that sound, eh?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Tom looked into those kindly blue eyes and for one precious moment he felt incredibly safe; even strong enough to take on the world all by himself. ‘I can never thank you enough, Dad, for taking us in like this.’
‘Oh, give over. You and me, we look after each other. Always have, always will.’ He gave Tom a friendly push. ‘Now then, be off and get the lad to his bed.’
As Tom hurried towards the kitchen, Bob called after him, ‘You needn’t worry if you didn’t have time to pack a bag for the lad. Casey allus keeps a spare pair o’ jamas here. And I’ve enough shirts upstairs to open a shop. Find one that doesn’t altogether drown him, and he’ll come to no harm. Now then! Don’t forget to fetch him in ’ere, so’s he can say good night to his old granddad.’
Tom found Casey on the kitchen floor, with the comic spread out in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. Instead, he was lying flat, with his arms stretched out, and his head resting on his arms. ‘It’s time for bed, son.’ Tom stooped down beside him. ‘Granddad Bob needs you to say good night.’
Big, soulful eyes looked up at Tom. ‘Did Granddad Bob say we can stay here then?’ His voice was suspiciously shaky, and from the smudges round his eyes, Tom suspected he’d been crying.
‘We can stay here as long as we want, that’s what he said.’
‘Can’t I stay up a bit longer?’
‘No, son. You’ve had a rough time of it. You need to get your sleep. You look shattered, and besides, me and Granddad Bob need to talk … grown-up stuff, if you know what I mean?’
‘About that man?’
‘About all sorts of things.’ Tom wisely skirted the reference to ‘that man’.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes.’ Taking the boy by his arms, Tom drew him up. ‘What is it, son?’
‘I don’t think I can go to sleep.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’ Tom needed to satisfy himself that, tonight of all nights, his son should sleep well and be safe from harm.
One thing was certain: there would be no sleep for Tom himself. Not with his mind in such turmoil. He needed space and quiet in order to think things through. He had to be sure he was doing the right thing for everyone, and not just for himself. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, he had made an agonising decision, which was bound to cause further pain and regrets for those he loved.
To his surprise, he found himself counting Ruth in that group. He knew she could be unbelievably cruel, and he deeply regretted the shame she had brought to their marriage. Moreover, he had seen at first hand her uncontrollable dislike for the boy. And yet, for some reason, Tom was surprised to find that he still had feelings for her.
Angry and confused, he thrust away his thoughts and concentrated on Casey. ‘Right then, son, let’s have you. First, you can say good night to your granddad, then it’s off up them stairs.’
‘OK.’ Without further ado, the boy replaced the biscuit barrel to the shelf, then he folded his comic and tucked it under his arm, before giving a long, lazy yawn. ‘Did Granddad really say we can stay here?’
‘If we want to, yes.’
‘Well, I want to, ’cause I never want to go back home.’
‘All right, son, but for now, I need you to put it all out of your mind and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, isn’t that so?’ He thought it surprising that, even after all the turmoil and troubles, the boy still referred to that unhappy dwelling on Henry Street as ‘home’.
Granddad Bob held Casey a moment longer than he might normally have done. ‘You’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ he said, ‘but it’s all behind you now, so put it out of your mind, lad. And while you’re here, you and your dad must treat this place as your own home. D’you understand?’
‘Thank you.’ The boy hugged him. ‘I love you, Granddad Bob.’
‘Mek sure you do, or you’ll get no more ginger biscuits.’ He gave a little wink. ‘Right?’
‘Right!’
Giggling, Casey ran across to his father. ‘Granddad Bob is really funny.’
Tom laughed. ‘Until you leave the bathroom in a mess, then you’ll find out differently.’
‘I don’t leave the bathroom in a mess.’
‘Ah, well, that’s a good job then, isn’t it?’
As the two of them went up the stairs, chatting and laughing, the old man remained deep in thought.
The boy’s overheard remark about ‘that man’ had only confirmed his suspicions about Ruth’s continuing affairs.
Yet Bob wondered whether that was just one reason for Tom’s distress. He couldn’t help but feel that Tom was keeping something back. Something he was not yet ready to share. What else besides his marriage had gone wrong?
The idea of Tom carrying some deep problem he felt unable to share was deeply worrying to the old man; so much so that he began pacing back and forth across the parlour.
Upstairs, Tom lingered by the bathroom door while young Casey squirted a measure of toothpaste onto his finger before rubbing it into his teeth. ‘If we’re staying here now, I’ll need a new toothbrush. I don’t want to go back and get my old one. Is that all right, Dad?’
‘Fine by me, so long as you stop talking and get on with the business of cleaning your teeth.’
A few minutes later, Casey was done. He then wiped the basin over with a flannel. ‘That’s all clean now, eh, Dad?’ Combing his tousled hair, he smiled at Tom.
‘Why yes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a clean basin. I reckon Granddad Bob will be very pleased with that. You know how fussy he is about his bathroom.’
As they made their way to the small bedroom, Casey wanted to know, ‘Why is Granddad Bob so fussy about his bathroom?’
Tom gave it some thought. ‘I reckon it’s because, for a long time, we never had a proper bathroom. My mother – the grandma you never knew – well, she always dreamed of having a proper bathroom, instead of bringing in the tin bath that hung on the wall outside. So anyway, when they finally got the boxroom turned into a bathroom, Mam was so happy that she was very particular about having it left clean and tidy.’
‘Why was she so puticlar?’
‘I think you mean “particular”.’
‘Hmm! Well, why was she so … you know … that?’
‘I’ll answer your question when you say the word properly.’ Tom sounded it out: ‘Par-tic-u-lar.’
‘All right then. So, why was she so par-tic-u-lar?’
Laughing, Tom clapped his hands. ‘Well done! Mum was so proud of the bathroom that she wanted visitors to see it in all its shining glory, polished up and clean as a whistle. Your granddad remembers that, and it’s why he, too, wants the bathroom always to be left clean, just the way Grandma would have liked it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Casey was happy with the explanation.
Tom turned back the bedclothes and Casey climbed in.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, son?’
‘I love it here, with Granddad Bob.’
‘Good.’
‘Can we stay for ever?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Would you like to stay here for ever, Dad?’
‘I think so.’ If things were different, he wondered if his answer might have been more definite.
‘And d’you think Granddad Bob would be willing to put up with us, if we stayed for ever, I mean?’
‘Yes, ’cause we’d be sure and look after him, wouldn’t we?’
‘That’s right! You could take him to the pub sometimes, and in the summer we could go on picnics; he’d like that. And I could run errands and fetch in the coal. We could go to Blackpool on Sundays and ride on the hobby-horses and after that, we could make sandcastles on the beach. Oh, and then—’
‘Whoa!’ Tom laughed out loud. ‘That all sounds too exhausting and wonderful, and I’m sure Granddad Bob would love it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to get all wound up just now, when I need you to go to sleep.’ He added cautiously, ‘No doubt there’ll be time for all that later on.’
The memories of his own wonderful childhood flooded Tom’s mind and lifted his heart. Lately, though, he had discovered that sometimes life was really cruel.
When the boy yawned again, Tom tucked the bedclothes over him. ‘I’m so proud of you, son.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers twining through the boy’s thick hair. ‘No man ever had a more wonderful son.’
‘Dad?’
‘Go to sleep, Casey.’
‘But I want to ask you a question.’
‘Aw, go on then. But that’s the last one.’
‘Are you proud of me when I play the guitar and sing?’
‘Of course. How could I not be proud of you, eh? You have a gift, and you must always use it. But I’m not only proud of you for that. I’m proud of you because you’re a good boy. It makes me feel special to have a son as fine as you.’
For a moment he paused, looking Casey in the eye. ‘I want you to tell me the truth, Casey. Are you sorry we left home … and your mam?’
‘No, Dad, I’m not sorry. I can’t be happy at home, because Mam won’t let me be. She gets angry and she makes me cry, even when I haven’t done anything wrong.’
Tom received the boy’s answer with mixed feelings. ‘Do you think you might be able to forgive her … some day in the future?’
Lowering his gaze, Casey considered Tom’s question before answering quietly, ‘I don’t know. Sometimes, I don’t like Mam very much, and sometimes … well, I think I might love her. Only she doesn’t want me to love her, and she won’t love me back.’
‘I understand what you’re saying,’ Tom reassured him. In his heart he was content to think that Ruth might never again get her claws into this boy. Then again, Casey was her son, and he needed a mother. And yet, if Ruth really had no warm feelings for him, he might be better off without her altogether.
‘It’s difficult to love someone, isn’t it?’ Tom said now. ‘Like you, I’m not really sure if she wants us or not. But there’s always the chance that she’ll change her mind. And if that happens, it would of course be for you to decide whether or not you want to forgive her.’
‘I’ll never forgive her!’ Casey had not forgotten. ‘She called me a liar, and I know what I heard. Anyway, she doesn’t want me. She said so.’
Before Tom could reply, the boy asked quietly, ‘She meant it, didn’t she, Dad?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Yes, I think she did … at the time, but when we’re angry, we all say all kinds of things we don’t mean.’
‘Well, if she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her. I’ve made up my mind, and I won’t go back.’
‘All right, son. That’s enough now. We’re here at Granddad’s, and he said you can stay as long as you want. So, let’s leave it at that, shall we?’
‘All right.’
‘I love you, Casey, and all I want is for you to be happy.’
‘But I can’t be happy just now, ’cause I’m a little bit sad that I can’t play the guitar any more.’
‘Then we’ll just have to get it mended, won’t we?’
‘How can we do that?’ He looked up at Tom with wide eyes, the tearful words tumbling one over the other. ‘It’s all busted, and the strings have jumped out, and … it’s no good any more.’
Tom gathered him into his arms. ‘Trust me, son,’ he murmured, ‘it can be mended.’
‘But, it’s all in bits.’ Casey’s tears spilled over. ‘It can’t ever be mended. Never, never!’
‘Hey!’ Tom wagged a finger. ‘Have I ever promised to do something that can’t be done?’
The child shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Right! So trust me now. Tears and tantrums won’t mend anything. But there must be a man out there who can mend whatever needs mending; even a guitar with “jumped-out” strings, and bits of wood missing.’
‘Where is he, then?’
‘Well, I can’t be really sure, not yet, but there must be someone out there. I mean, there are clockmakers to mend clocks; tailors to repair clothes, and mechanics to mend broken engines. So I reckon that means there must be someone who mends guitars. Isn’t that so?’
Tom was rewarded with a bright, happy smile. ‘Yeah! And we’ll find him, won’t we, Dad?’
Relieved that the boy’s spirits were up again, Tom gave an encouraging nod. ‘Now close your eyes and go to sleep.’
‘Dad?’
‘What now?’
‘Will you tell me that story, about when you were a little boy, and Granddad used to take you to Mill Hill bridge, where you watched the trains running underneath, and all the steam blew up into your faces?’ He grinned at the thought. ‘You said you felt invisible.’
‘That’s right, son. Oh, but they were wonderful times. I was a very lucky boy to have those adventures.’ Just now, when Casey mentioned the railway bridge at Mill Hill, Tom’s heart had almost stopped, because that particular place from his childhood had played heavily on his mind lately.
Now, though, because of the boy’s curiosity, he was made to revisit Mill Hill bridge in his mind once more. The thought of his father and himself walking under that picturesque viaduct and onwards, up the bank and along the curve of the bridge itself, was one of Tom’s most precious memories.
When other, darker thoughts clouded his troubled mind, he smiled at the irony. ‘Are you sure you want that particular story, son?’
‘Yes, please.’
With mixed emotions, Tom told the story about the days when he and Granddad Bob had regularly stood on the bridge for hours, watching the trains as they made their noisy way beneath, sending clouds of steam upwards and outwards. There was always much laughter when the steam enveloped the two of them, before quickly evaporating in the air.
While Casey laughed aloud, Tom blinked away stinging tears. ‘Soon the next train would come along,’ he went on, ‘and sometimes we’d lean over the bridge wall, with your granddad Bob hanging onto my pants to stop me from falling headfirst onto the railway lines below. The steam was everywhere. When we finally came away, my hair would feel really damp to the touch. Then Granddad Bob would always threaten to turn me upside down when we got home.’
‘Why would he turn you upside down?’
‘So’s he could wash the kitchen floor with my damp hair … or at least that’s what he said.’
Casey laughed out loud. ‘He wouldn’t really do that, would he?’
‘No, it was just his idea of a joke.’
Having been persuaded to tell the tale for the umpteenth time, Tom’s heart was heavy.
Nevertheless, he told it as promised, right to the end; by which time Casey was fast asleep.
Tom stayed with him for a while. He held his hand, and watched him sleeping. His tearful eyes roved over that small, familiar face, and for a precious time he lay beside him, oddly content just to watch him sleep.
In those precious moments of quiet, he could almost hear the boy’s heartbeat, as regular as a clock counting away the minutes.
Tom closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. ‘Dear Lord above, please help me to be strong, and forgive me if you can. And it would give me some peace if you could find your way to making Casey’s wishes come true. Could you show him the way to become a fine musician? It isn’t much to ask, is it, not when he’s already losing so much in his turbulent young life?’ He felt guilty and so very sad.
When, a few moments later, Tom found himself falling asleep, he clambered off the bed and, after making sure Casey was resting easy, made his way downstairs.
His father was sitting in the armchair beside a warm, crackling fire.
‘Oh, ’ere you are, Tom. I were beginning to think you’d gone to bed, an’ all,’ he remarked cheerily. ‘Mind you, I nearly nodded off meself a minute or two back. I’ll not be long afore I make my own way up them stairs, I can tell you.’
‘It was a while before Casey closed his eyes,’ Tom explained. ‘He had so many questions. His main worry was how to get the guitar mended, after Ruth smashed it to pieces.’
The old man tutted angrily. ‘Smashed it to pieces, eh? Shame on the woman! That was a terrible, wicked thing to do, even for her!’
Tom, too, had been astonished at the violent way in which she’d smashed the guitar into the wall; almost as though she was taking her rage out on a living thing … a person, maybe.
Bob went on thoughtfully, ‘Don’t say anything to the lad just yet in case it comes to nothing, but I recall somebody talking in the pub last week. They’re thinking of having a piano player of a Sat’day night, and it seems there’s a fella round these parts who knows a great deal about musical instruments and such. Mebbe he can rebuild that guitar?’
The idea gave Tom a deal of contentment before the feeling of sadness took hold again. He closed his eyes and thought of Ruth, and he regretted with all his heart the pain she had caused that young boy.
His own pain was of no importance compared to other issues, but he felt really hurt for Casey, who had his whole life ahead of him, with all its unexpected twists and turns.
The old man had seen the change in his son’s manner. ‘You look like somebody lost,’ he said. ‘Sit yersel’ down, lad. I’ve poured you a drop o’ gin. It’ll help wash your troubles away.’ He gestured to the tumbler on the small table. ‘Get it down you, lad. It’ll do you a world o’ good.’
Making a smile, Tom took the glass and settled in the opposite armchair beside the fire. Being closer now, he observed the rosy glow in his dad’s weathered old face, but it was the twinkle in his eye that gave him away. ‘Looks to me like you’ve started without me,’ Tom laughed. ‘Not that I blame you, because we both need a tipple after what’s happened.’
The old man nodded. ‘There’s nowt wrong wi’ a drop o’ the good stuff now and then, so long as you don’t let it become a habit. Everything in moderation – isn’t that what they say? A little drop occasionally, that’s the trick. Enough for you to celebrate when you’re on the up, and lift your spirits when you’re down.’
Tom agreed. ‘So, where are we now, up or down?’
‘Well, with you having to leave your wife, I’d say we were down a while ago, but now that you and my grandson are ’ere with me, safe and well, I reckon we must be on the up. So, to my mind, that calls for another little tipple.’ He held out his empty glass. ‘Not too much, mind. We’ve things to talk through, and I need a clear ’ead on me shoulders.’
So, they had a second little tipple, and talked into the late hours. Tom explained how Ruth had been sleeping with one of his workmates, and that she’d entertained him in their own house, in their own bed, and worse, ‘Young Casey was right there, outside the bedroom. He actually heard the man’s voice from inside, and when he felt the need to tell me, she started on him. Like a wild thing she was.’
The old man was shocked. ‘Aye, well, there’s no accounting for some folks, and if you ask me, you did right in leaving. I’m glad you brought the boy ’ere. I’d have done exactly the same!’
A moment later, having knocked back his tipple, he got out of his chair and gave a long stretch. ‘I’m off to me bed, son, afore I drop off in the chair. See you in the morning, eh?’
Tom gave a little nod. ‘Good night, Dad.’ He watched his father amble across the room. ‘Sleep well, and thanks again. If it hadn’t been for you taking us in, I don’t know what might have happened.’
The old man turned round. ‘It’s what any man would do for them as he loves.’
His kind words struck a deep chord with Tom. On a sudden impulse he went across the room and, taking his father into a deep hug, he told him, ‘All my life you’ve been an example to me. I hope I’ve done the same for my boy.’
Surprised by Tom’s fierce display of affection, the old man held him at arm’s length. ‘I know you’re upset about everything, but you’re not to worry, son. As for being a good father to your own son, nobody could have done better. I promise we’ll be fine, all three of us. One way or another, we’ll sort it out and, like you, I’m determined young Casey will get his chance.’ He smiled sincerely. ‘Even if it means me trying to mend that guitar meself. Trust me, son, that little lad will have his time.’
Patting Tom on the back, he confided, ‘It’s you I’m worried about. You look like you’ve been through the wringer. I noticed straight off, from seeing you last week, you’ve lost weight. Oh, I can understand how this business with Ruth would bring you down … bring any man down, I’m sure!’
He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, I can’t help but feel you’re not telling me everything.’
Resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he asked him outright, ‘Be honest with me, son. Is there summat you’re not saying? Summat else that’s caused you to turn your back on house and home? Though God knows, what with yer wife carrying on like that, and then upsetting that little lad, that’s more than enough to send a man off the rails. All the same, I need you to be honest with me. So, is there summat?’ He looked Tom in the eye. ‘You can trust me, son. Whatever it is, you know I’m here to help.’
Sidestepping his father’s direct question, Tom shook his head. ‘You already know the problem, and now here you are, right in the middle of it, when I should be dealing with it myself. I’m sorry, Dad. I truly never meant for that to happen.’ Casting his gaze to the floor, he finished lamely, ‘Truth is, things have got on top of me, and I can’t help but wonder … how will it all end.’
‘Tom, now you listen to me!’ Struck by Tom’s heartfelt words, Bob told him firmly, ‘I’m all right with being caught up in your troubles. When a family’s in need, we all pull together, isn’t that the way it’s allus been? If I needed a home, I know you would never turn me away. We’re family, and families look after each other. God willing, I’ll be here for you for as long as the Good Lord sees fit to let me live. D’you understand me, son? If you’re in trouble, it’s my trouble as well, and so long as I’ve got a roof over my head, so have you and the boy … even Ruth, if she ever saw fit to mend her ways. So, we’ll ’ave no more o’ this thanking me, and worrying yerself stupid.’
He paused, before speaking firmly: ‘I’ve asked you once, and now I’ll ask again. Is there summat you’re not telling me?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘What I mean is, while I understand about Ruth and her bad ways, I can’t help but feel, in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘that you’re deliberately holding summat back. Are yer?’
Again, Tom skirted the question as honestly as he could. ‘Dad! I’ve told you what happened,’ he said.
‘And that’s everything, is it?’
Tom forced a cynical little laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Mmm.’ The old man was still not altogether satisfied, but as he was dog-tired, anything else could wait until morning. ‘All right, son.’ He patted Tom on the shoulder. ‘I’m off to my bed now, and from the look of you I reckon you need to do the same.’ He was concerned at Tom’s appearance: the dark, hollow patches under his eyes, and that forsaken look that took away his smile. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, son. Don’t stay up too late, and remember, you and the boy are all right here with me. I’m well suited wi’ that.’
‘Good night then, Dad. Thanks.’
Still troubled, Bob went carefully up the narrow, winding staircase. At the top, he turned towards the bedroom where Casey was sleeping soundly.
For a while, he stood by the bed, looking tenderly down on that strong little face. Well, lad, it sounds like you and yer father have had a real bad time of it, he thought. ‘But thank God, you’re safe now, and while I’m ’ere to watch over yer, you’ll come to no harm. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I’m not such an old fool I don’t know when my own son is troubled.’
Looking on the boy again, Bob’s face wreathed in a smile.
Mind you, I’m old and addled, and I could be imagining things. I mean, I’ve been wrong afore, an’ who’s to say I’m not wrong now? Not to worry, eh, lad? The truth is, we all need a good night’s sleep. Things will likely look a whole lot better in the morning.
Leaning down, he gently kissed the boy’s forehead. ‘You’ve no need to fret about the guitar, lad,’ he whispered, ‘because your old gramp will get it fixed. You’ll see, one way or another, you’ll be playing like a good ’un in no time at all.’
He gazed fondly on the boy a moment longer, then he went softly to the door, where he gave a last look back before ambling on to his own bedroom.
Walking carefully to avoid the creaking boards on the landing, he heard the clock strike the eleventh hour, and the downstairs radio playing soft music.
‘Go to bed, son,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Today was a bad ’un, but tomorrow is a new day altogether.’
With that thought in mind he went to his bed hoping that, when tomorrow came, his son might be more able to confide in his old dad.
Downstairs in the back parlour, Tom sat at the small table.
With his eyes closed and the palms of his hands covering his head, he made no attempt to wipe away the tears that ran freely down his face.
Instead, he searched his mind for a way out; a way that would cause the least distress; a way that might allow them to forgive him.
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Josephine Cox
The brand new dramatic novel about the power of a father’s love, a little boy’s journey,and the desperate search for a place to call home, from Number 1 best-selling author Josephine Cox.Eight-year-old Casey’s mother Ruth is a cruel woman, with a weakness for other women’s husbands.Casey’s father is gentle and hard-working and, though Tom Denton has long suspected his wife of having sordid affairs, he has chosen to turn a blind eye to keep the peace. But then, out of the blue, Tom’s world is cruelly shattered when he receives two bits of devastating news. Because of this, Tom realises that from now on their lives must change, forever.Tom is made to fight for his son, determined to keep him safe. But, when fate takes a hand, life can be unbearably cruel, and Casey is made to remember his father’s prophetic words…‘It’s done. The dice is thrown, and nobody wins.’But, unbeknown to Casey, there are three letters penned by his father, that may just change his destiny forever.
JOSEPHINE COX
Three Letters
Copyright (#ulink_d3398a4f-a701-596d-ad5d-1a08e342d397)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperCollins 2012
Copyright © Josephine Cox 2012
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780007419999
Ebook Edition © February 2012 ISBN: 9780007419975
Version: 2017-05-22
Praise (#ulink_da8b0724-461b-54e2-8837-1f888122cbf5)
‘Readers will find it impossible to tear themselves away.’
News of the World
‘Another hit for Josephine Cox.’
Sunday Express
‘The latest emotionally charged story from this mega-selling author won’t disappoint her army of fans.’
Bella
‘Cox’s talent as a storyteller never lets you escape the spell.’
Daily Mail
‘Another masterpiece.’
Best
‘A born storyteller.’
Bedfordshire Times
Dedication (#ulink_43ad8c62-adf3-5dc0-bb2c-95603252311a)
To my darling Ken, as always.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u6a161452-3f34-5dc3-9041-42329b6a6b1f)
Title Page (#ucd1d2d22-c26c-5cf4-a7ba-7f88e0f9b3bd)
Copyright (#u7ebec64e-830f-515d-882e-cb1637a6167f)
Praise (#u2a7375f7-6289-5159-842f-884db9be2127)
Dedication (#u9d4136f6-4ec2-5275-9868-2d2449cbf363)
Part One: Blackburn – March 1958 – Lies (#ufb31fd88-0c56-50c6-8045-6a90844d02e3)
Chapter One (#u68ffa902-e919-566a-9d09-873ff180ee70)
Chapter Two (#ueb79c537-ffbe-5c87-bcca-878b6d4ac9a9)
Chapter Three (#u6afa7317-9a24-5325-a132-8b5c8920fc05)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two: Loving Arms (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Three: A Hard Road (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Four: Chance Encounter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Five: Suspicions (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Six: Your Sins will Find You Out (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Q&A with Josephine Cox (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader,
It never ceases to amaze and touch me deeply, when I read your wonderful and very honest letters. I hope you can confide in me whenever you feel lonely or sad and, as ever, I will always reply as soon as I can.
For those of you going through a very difficult time, I hope things will be alright and I do understand and listen. For now, my thoughts are with you.
All my love,
Jo x
PART ONE (#ulink_6d7a3d11-cea4-53fd-8336-ab6fc6676fb0)
Blackburn – March 1958 Lies (#ulink_6d7a3d11-cea4-53fd-8336-ab6fc6676fb0)
Below is part of the letter that Casey receives from his father.
For Casey
My love will always be with you, son, and if it’s possible, I will be ever by your side, watching and guiding you. When you’re worried and sad of heart, you might hear the softest rush of sound about you. It will be me, come to encourage and help you.
Be brave, my son. Follow your heart, and know always that I love you.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c560f3c1-2825-51ab-85f7-e23b4a400248)
‘RIGHT, LADS, TIME to finish up.’ The foreman’s voice echoed through the factory. ‘We’ve all got better things to do than hang round ’ere, so come on, chop chop.’
Grateful to be at the end of another week, the men heard Bill Townsend’s instructions and the machines were quickly switched off.
Tormented by his thoughts, Tom Denton had not heard the instructions and he continued to grade the metal parts, as they travelled along the conveyor belt.
‘Wake up, lad!’ the foreman shouted. ‘It’s time to go … unless yer want to spend the weekend ’ere?’
Tom acknowledged the order with a nod of the head. He switched off the machine, quickly stacked the graded tools into a packing case, then collected his bag.
Hurrying down the gangway, he fell in with the other men; their voices creating an eerie echo as they chattered amongst themselves. Marching towards the door, their heavy boots made a comforting rhythmic sound against the concrete floor.
‘I can’t wait to get home,’ said one, ‘I’ve a meaty hot-pot waiting for me.’
One of the men chuckled. ‘A meaty hot-pot, eh? What’s that, your wife or your dinner?’ His cheeky comment created a roar of laughter amongst his workmates.
Waiting with the men’s wage packets, Bill Townsend focused his attention on Tom; a quiet young man in his early thirties. From starting work as an apprentice at the age of fourteen, he had proved himself to be a hard worker, thoroughly reliable and greatly respected by his colleagues. He was also popular, with his kindly nature, and easy smile, even though for the sake of his son, he was made to tolerate a shameful situation at home. A situation which, unbeknown to Tom, was common gossip in the local community.
He had two great loves in his life. One was his music. The other was young Casey, the son he doted on.
He was more than willing to pass the time of day during the short break, especially with his mate, Len, who was the mechanic that kept the machines in top working order, though today, Len was off work having three of his teeth out.
Bill wondered about Tom, having noticed how quiet he had been of late. His smile was not so quick, and his shoulders were hunched, as though carrying the weight of the world.
Having heard the latest gossip in the neighbourhood, Bill had a good idea what was playing on Tom’s mind, but it was not for him to interfere and, more importantly, Tom would not thank him for it. As far as he was concerned, any friction between a man and his wife was for them to deal with. Others could mind their own business.
Just then, sensing that he was being watched, Tom looked up to see Bill staring at him. Feeling uncomfortable at having been caught out, Bill gave him a quick smile, and hurriedly returned to his paperwork. ‘No doubt that woman has been giving him grief again!’ Like everyone else, Bill was aware of the gossip.
Tom guessed what was going through Bill’s mind, as it must be going through the mind of every man jack on that factory floor. He had long suspected they were aware of his unhappy marital situation. In fact, he was sure the whole of Blackburn must know about his wife’s sordid affairs by now.
Whenever he tackled her about seeing other men, she always denied it, but occasionally the evidence betrayed her. A trusted neighbour might tell him; or he might catch a glimpse of her in the street on the arm of some stranger, and once he came home to find a man’s wallet lying on the floor of their bedroom.
Like a good and practised liar, she always had answers. After a while, for the sake of peace, Tom pretended to believe her lies, but he had so much bitterness and regret in him, so much pain. There was a time when he had adored her, but his love for Ruth had diminished in the face of her betrayals. For the sake of appearances, and the wellbeing of their son, he had stayed in the belief that it was better for young Casey to be part of a slightly damaged family than not be part of a family at all.
He made himself believe that he must be partly to blame, that somehow he had failed not only Ruth, but himself. In the end, seeing no way out of his impossible dilemma, and unable to right the situation, he left her to her own devices and devoted his life and energy to Casey.
If it hadn’t been for his son, Tom would have left his cheating wife long ago, but Casey was the light of his life and at times, his only joy.
Now, though, ironically, his careful reasoning was undermined, because Fate had intervened, driving him in a different and unexpected direction.
As he queued for his wages with the other men, Tom silently dwelt on his life and the way things had turned out. Ruth had been the wrong woman for him, and because of her, he had never taken the chances when they came along. And there had been one or two, the most memorable being a certain occasion when his musical talent might have carried him into the big time. Now that was a dream long gone. His chances of becoming a serious musician were lost for ever. He would never know the joy of playing to audiences far and wide because, like a fool, he had listened to Ruth, and now it was all too late.
Pushing the bad thoughts from his mind, Tom thought of Casey, and a gentle, loving smile washed over his face. That cheeky, darling boy had appeared to inherit his daddy’s passion for music, and a quenchless curiosity for knowledge. He wanted to know everything: about music, about life and the way of things in the world.
From the minute he could speak, Casey questioned everything, wanting to know where the sun came from in the morning and where it went at night. He spent hours watching the birds in the back yard, and when they sang he mimicked them and sang back.
In his odd little way, Casey had danced before he could walk, and whenever Tom brought out his guitar to play, Casey would sit on his knee to watch and listen, his face wreathed in amazement while the music filled his soul. Then his mammy would complain about the noise and the music was stopped.
Thinking about that now, Tom realised there were things he was powerless to change, and he was filled with a great sense of sorrow. Now, although it was too late for Tom himself, it was not too late for Casey.
‘You all right, Tom?’ Ernie Sutton, a workmate, sidled up to him. ‘What’s up with yer?’
Tom was instantly on his guard. ‘Nothing. Why?’
Ernie gave a shrug. ‘I were just wondering. I mean … you’ve been quieter than usual, that’s all.’ Like the others, he had noticed how Tom had barely spoken a word today. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ he ventured gently. ‘I’m older than you, son, and I’ve seen a bit of life. I might be able to advise you … if you’ve a problem, that is?’
‘I’m not saying I don’t have problems,’ Tom admitted wryly, ‘… because I do … like any other man, I expect. The thing is, Ernie, we all have to deal with them in our own way. Isn’t that right?’
‘Aye. That’s right enough, I dare say.’ Ernie thought it best to leave him be. ‘Sorry if I overstepped the mark, son. I just wanted to let you know … I’m here if you need a friend.’
‘You’re always a good friend, Ernie, but I’m all right. Really.’
Stepping aside, Ernie felt unsettled. Over the years he had come to know Tom well, and he sensed that there was something playing on the younger fella’s mind. Something more than usual, even more than money. None of the men was well off, but Tom was a grafter who provided well for the boy. He even sustained a shameless hussy who flaunted herself at any man who would give her the time of day.
Thinking of Ruth Denton made Ernie grateful for his own wife of twenty years, a fine woman, content with her man. It would never enter her head to go throwing herself about like some cheap tart.
Tom was anxious to collect his wages and get home now. He needed to talk with Ruth, and this time she must listen to what he had to say. Twice before he tried to discuss his concerns, but she was never interested. The last time he had broached the subject, she had just walked away. Tonight, though, because of the latest development, he was determined to say his piece.
He had borne the burden of his secret for too long. Time was running out and the truth must be faced.
‘What about you, Tom?’
Tom was startled. ‘Sorry, Bill, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?’
‘I were just saying, it’s Friday, and I, for one, am off to the pub for a quick pint.’ Bill Townsend was a mountain of a man, with an unhealthy liking for the booze. He was a good foreman and a straight-talking, likeable fellow, but when he got the booze inside him, he could be argumentative, itching to flatten anyone who got in his way. ‘Come on, lads! Half an hour at the most,’ he persisted. ‘You’ll not get the chance of a crafty pint, once the wife gets her hands on your wage packet!’
Dishing out the little brown envelopes containing their week’s wages, he continued to coax them. ‘Look, you can’t send me in there on my own. There’s no fun in that, is there, eh?’
‘It’s all right for you, Bill.’ John Howard was older, sincere and loyal to his workmates, while good-naturedly grumbling about his wife of many years. ‘You don’t have a wife who would throw a sulk all weekend just because you had a drink with your mates. You don’t know what she’s like.’
‘That’s very true.’ With no woman of his own and no responsibilities, big Bill had a twinkle in his eye, and a bigger twinkle in his pants. With his wages tucked safely away, he was looking forward to an hour or so in the pub, where he hoped to enjoy an eyeful of the barmaid’s large and attractive assets and, if he was lucky enough, maybe even a romp in the back room afterwards, and not for the first time either.
‘At least you’ve a woman of your own!’ he told John. ‘There are times when I’d kill for a feisty, jealous woman waiting for me at home. It’s a lonely old life on your own.’ He shifted his sorry gaze from one man to another. ‘Come on, lads, just half an hour of your company, that’s all I’m asking.’
John was adamant. ‘Not me, Bill. Sorry, but I’m off home to put my feet up, and hopefully pick out a winner or two from the racing page.’
Bill shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ He turned back to Tom, still hoping there might be a possibility that he could help with whatever was troubling him. ‘Won’t you change your mind, Tom? Join me for a pint or two and a chat, eh?’
Tom was adamant. ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t … not tonight.’
‘Why’s that then?’ Bill gently quizzed him. ‘What’s so desperate you can’t come out with me and the lads for half an hour?’
Tom took a moment to consider his answer. The last thing he needed was a grilling. ‘It’s not that I’m “desperate” to get home,’ he said. ‘It’s … my boy, Casey.’ He hated lying. ‘I promised I’d take him to the pictures tonight.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The older man was not fooled, but he went along with Tom’s explanation. ‘Well, that’s reason enough for me, lad! You must keep your promise to the boy.’
Seeing the questioning look in the older man’s eyes, Tom knew his lie was found out, and he felt ashamed. ‘Another time maybe?’
‘Yeah. Another time.’ Bill Townsend felt a rush of sympathy. He suspected that Tom’s cheating wife had been at her old game again. She made no secret of her liking for other men. And, as if that wasn’t enough humiliation for Tom, she had a habit of belittling him in public when, rather than argue in the street, Tom would simply walk away.
‘Right then!’ Bill quickly shifted his attention to the other men. ‘So, there’s none of you up for it, eh? Fair enough, I’ll go on my own, and sit in the corner like some poor lost soul.’
‘Oh, go on then, you’ve talked me into it.’ Will Drayton was a bit of a Jack-the-lad. A family man, at heart, he still believed he had a right to be single whenever it suited him. ‘Count me in, boss.’
‘Me too!’ That was Arnie Sutton. Married with four children, he often rolled home, drunk and violent. Thankfully, his long-suffering wife was a match for him. An hour in the pub would cost him a week of nagging and deprivation in the bedroom. But did he care? Not one jot; because the making-up was well worth the aggravation.
‘Count me in!’ Jacob Tully was a quiet, unmarried young man, burdened with a dictatorial mother. She thought nothing of thrashing him with the poker, the scars of which he carried on his back. Usually he would not have accepted Townsend’s invitation, but tonight he felt the need to fortify himself before walking into the usual war zone at home.
Jacob had long promised himself that one of these fine days he would pack his bag, and walk out of his mother’s house for good. Deep down, though, he knew he could never abandon her. For good or bad, Mabel was his mother. Maybe her quick temper was his fault; maybe he wasn’t earning enough, or looking after her well. Maybe she was lonely and frightened, needing to vent her frustrations on the only person left in her life since her husband died two years ago. If he left, how would she manage? She had little money, and whenever anyone mentioned her going to work, she panicked, claiming she was too ill, that no one realised how hard it was for her to get through each day.
Jacob was the breadwinner, solely responsible for the bills and upkeep of their home. Each day his mother seemed to lean on him more, and slowly but surely, he had allowed it to happen.
Even now, when he found himself the butt of her vicious temper and spiteful ways, he could not find the heart to desert her. But if he ever did summon up the courage to leave her, where would he go?
As a schoolboy, he had been discouraged from making friends, and later when he’d started dating, his mother always managed to get rid of any girl he brought home.
Now, without real friends or interests, Jacob felt life was passing him by. He deeply regretted that, but life under his mother’s rule was impossible to change. He had no idea how he might regain his freedom.
He gave a deep, inward sigh. As Bill Townsend had implied just now, being all alone in the world was a frightening prospect. Sometimes, you were better off with the devil you knew.
Bill Townsend had been pleasantly surprised at Jacob’s offer to join him. ‘You’re sure, are you, lad? I mean … as a rule, you’re allus in a rush to get home.’
Jacob’s uncomfortable existence was a secret from his workmates.
‘There’s no need for me to rush home. Not tonight anyway,’ Jacob answered warily. ‘Mum won’t be home till late,’ he lied. ‘She’s visiting some old friends in Darwen, and I’m to get my own dinner. To tell you the truth, I’m not much good at peeling spuds and all that, so I might as well enjoy a pint or two in the pub with all of you.’ Taking matters into his own hands was a rare and exciting thing. It made him feel proud, like a man should.
Of course his mother would make him pay for this, but just for tonight he didn’t care. He knew he would feel the weight of the poker across his back when he rolled home, all the merrier for a few pints, but his back was broad enough to take it, and his spirit all the stronger for having defied her.
‘Right then!’ Bill’s gruff voice rattled across the factory floor. ‘Anybody else? And don’t tell me you haven’t got a thirst on, because I know better! Surely, the missus won’t begrudge you one pint.’
He was greeted with a flurry of excuses.
‘Huh! You don’t know my missus.’
‘I’ve promised to take mine down to the Lion’s Head. There’s a darts match on tonight.’
‘An’ I’m looking forward to my woman’s fish pie and chips … best you’ve ever tasted.’
Bill decided they were all cowards of one sort or another. ‘Go on then, clear off,’ he taunted jokingly. ‘Miserable buggers, the lot of you!’
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.
‘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’yer 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.’
‘I need to get back,’ Tom explained graciously. ‘I missed my bus so I’ve had to walk, but I’m almost home now. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be in the warm. Thank you all the same.’
She was genuinely disappointed. ‘Aye, well, I expect you’re eager to get home to yer good woman, eh?’
Tom gave a wry little smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’ He wished Ruth could realise how she had damaged his love by her rejection of Casey, together with her infidelity to himself.
Often it felt to Tom that there were only two people in the whole world that mattered to him now. They were his father, Bob, and his son, Casey; and may God forgive him, for he was about to hurt them badly.
‘There you are, son.’ The kindly woman tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Oh!’ Tom apologised, ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Are you all right?’ She’d seen the faraway look in his eyes and, being a mother herself, she suspected he was unhappy. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve a son about your age, and I know how some things can get you down.’ She smiled. ‘Money worries, is it?’
‘No, we manage well enough, I reckon,’ Tom assured her.
‘Oh, well then, it’ll be woman trouble,’ she tutted. ‘It’s allus woman trouble … at least with my son it is. She’s already left him twice and come back with her tail between her legs. I tell him straight, you’d be better off without her, but he never listens—’
She would have ranted on, but Tom interrupted, ‘No, it’s not woman trouble, but thanks for your interest.’ She meant well, he thought, but from what she was saying, it sounded as though she might have troubles of her own.
‘Right then!’ She handed him the bag of food. ‘I’ve double-wrapped them in newspaper so they should still be nice and hot by the time yer get home.’
Wishing her well, Tom opened his wage packet, settled the bill, and left.
He knew Ruth would not be too pleased about him dipping into the wage packet. No doubt she would launch into one of her tantrums.
Besides, he had no intention of being drawn into an argument, especially not tonight of all nights, when he had other pressing matters on his mind.
With the three meals bagged up and tucked under his coat to keep warm, he quickened his pace towards home. The sooner it’s done, the better, he told himself. There’s no turning back. Not now. Not ever.
It wasn’t long before he was approaching Henry Street.
As he crossed the little Blakewater bridge, he paused, holding the meals safe with one hand, while with the other, he frantically searched his coat pockets for the front door key.
Still digging about in his pockets, determined to find the key, he set off again. By this time, he was only minutes away from his front door.
The closer he got to the house, the more he despaired at the thought of what he must do, and how it would devastate those he loved.
Oh, Tom, have you really thought it through? Not for the first time he questioned himself. You must know what it will do to that lad o’ yours?
Momentarily distraught, he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and his heart heavy. It’s a terrible thing you’re planning, Tom, he admitted … a terrible, sinful thing.
Raising his gaze to the skies, he asked softly, ‘Please, Lord, don’t punish the boy for my bad actions. Look after him, Lord. Don’t let him come to any harm.’ When the tears threatened, he took a deep breath and continued on; his pace now slow and laboured. But his determination remained unswerving.
Nothing, not his crippling sense of guilt nor the deep concern he felt for his father, nor even his complete devotion to the boy, could change his mind. Not when the alternative could prove to be even more painful. Not when he knew that whichever road he took, all would be lost anyway.
Upstairs, Tom’s wife and the trusted workmate were parting company.
‘Ssh!’
While the man frantically dressed, Ruth ran onto the landing and listened. Nervous, she fled back into the bedroom. ‘There’s somebody outside the front door. You’d best be quick!’
She grabbed the money he was offering, then took him by the arm and led him quickly and silently onto the landing, where she peered down.
‘It’s all clear … hurry!’ She ran him down the stairs. ‘Go out the back way.’ Keeping one wary eye on the front door, she hissed, ‘Through the scullery and out, along the ginnel. Be quick, dammit!’ She shoved Len towards the back rooms.
Relieved to hear that Tom was chatting with someone outside the front door, she fled swiftly back up the stairs and into the bedroom where, breathless and excited, she hid her shameful earnings in a purpose-made slit in the hem of the curtain linings.
She then went to the mirror, where she wiped away the heavy make-up and tidied her hair.
On checking herself in the mirror, she wagged a finger at the reflected image. ‘One o’ these days, my girl, if yer not careful, you’ll be caught out, sure as eggs are eggs!’ The thought of her conquest fleeing through the alleyways with his underpants on back to front and his trouser-belt dangling, had her stifling a giggle.
Outside, Tom bade the neighbour good night. ‘Mind how you go, Mick, lad.’ The amiable old man was away to get his regular pint of ale at the local. He was often too early, but the landlord always let him in, and no one ever complained. Even the local bobby looked the other way.
Impatient, Tom struggled with the fish and chips, finally found his key, and slid the key in the lock. Just then, out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone running out of the ginnel some way down the street. For a split second he thought he recognised the figure. But it was dark, the man was quickly gone from sight, and now he was not altogether certain.
Tom shook his head, No … it couldn’t be Len, he thought. What in God’s name would he be doing running out of a ginnel, and here of all places? Besides, as I recall, he sent word to the foreman, to say he was having some teeth taken out.
Looking again at the shadowy place where the figure had disappeared, a niggling thought crossed his mind. Then he glanced up at the front bedroom, where the light was on. ‘No …’ He dared not allow himself to believe what was running through his mind: the shocking idea of his wife and Len … up there in his own bed. All the same, he knew from experience that it was not an impossibility. Don’t be so bloody stupid! Len’s a good mate! he angrily dispatched the wicked idea from his mind.
But the seed was sown. Maybe it really was Len running out of the ginnel. ‘You’re wrong.’ he muttered angrily. ‘Take a grip of yourself, man!’
Opening the door, he entered the house, and called out his son’s name. ‘Casey! Casey, where are you?’
When there was no answer he closed the door, went down the passage and called up the stairs, ‘Ruth, I’m home.’
Ruth came rushing from the parlour, where she’d been congratulating herself on her conquest of Len, and her quick wit in covering her tracks. But then she’d had enough practice over the years.
Tom was surprised to see her coming from the direction of the back room. ‘I thought you were upstairs.’
‘Really? Well, now you can see I’m not.’
‘Did you know the lights are on up there?’
She feigned surprise. ‘Oh, are they? Well, yes, I was up there changing the beds, but I came rushing down when I heard you at the door.’
Cursing herself for leaving the lights on, she wisely changed the subject. ‘Anyway, you’re late! Where’ve you been?’ Keeping a distance, she groaned, ‘The tea isn’t ready yet, but I’ve been up to my neck in ironing, and I’ve been catching up on a multitude of things.’
Tom was not surprised. ‘So there’s no tea ready, then?’
‘Like I said, I’ve been that busy I haven’t even had time to go to the butcher’s and get the sausages I planned for your meal.’
Eager to vindicate herself she began to whine, ‘You’ve no idea of the time it takes to run a house.’ She held out her hand. ‘Oh, and I’ll need some money if I’m going to buy some food from the corner shop. You go and talk to Casey.’ She stretched out her hand, ‘come on then!’ waiting.
‘Where’s Casey?’ Normally, the boy would be at the door, looking for his dad.
‘He’s in the front parlour. He said something about cleaning your guitar.’
At that moment, soft musical tones emanated from the front parlour.
‘Well! The little sod!’ Ruth said angrily. ‘I warned him not to play the guitar, but you know what he’s like … doesn’t listen to a damned word I say.’
Oblivious to the fact that Tom was standing in wet clothes, she screeched at him, ‘Did you not hear what I said? If I’m going to the corner shop, I’ll need money.’
‘For pity’s sake, woman, let me catch my breath, will you!’ Not once had she asked how his day had been, or noticed that he was wet to the marrow. ‘I need to dry myself off …’
‘Oh, yes … you’re soaked, aren’t you!’ Stepping back a pace, she feigned concern. ‘You’d best dry yourself on the towel in the kitchen, while I go to the shop.’ She thrust her open palm beneath his face. ‘I’m waiting! The quicker you give me some money, the quicker I’ll be back.’
When she leaned forward to collect the little brown packet containing his wages, Tom could smell the other man on her; the thick tobacco odour that clung to her skin and lingered in her hair. Ruth smoked Woodbines, while it seemed this man rolled a stronger brand of tobacco.
The image of the man running from the ginnel raised a suspicion in his mind. He knew Len smoked roll-ups. Was it possible that he and Ruth had … No! It was too loathsome to imagine. Besides, any number of men smoked roll-ups.
He knew his wife had been with a man, though. The telltale tobacco odour had a woody smell, while her Woodbines were much sweeter. Over the years, Tom had learned to tell the difference.
With her wanton ways and devious nature, she had caused him a deal of misery, but now it no longer mattered. Now he had a plan. Whatever happened, Ruth was a survivor and would come through. It was young Casey he worried about, and to that end he had made contingencies.
Reaching into his coat, he took out the bag of fish and chips and handed it to her.
‘What’s this?’ She sniffed. ‘Fish and chips!’ Her face fell. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve spent good money on fish and bloody chips? Especially when I’d already planned sausage and mash. But, oh no! You had to take matters into your own hands, didn’t you, eh?’
Tom ignored her goading. ‘You just said yourself, you haven’t got the meal ready, so now you don’t have to bother, do you?’ Giving her a way out for not cooking a meal was becoming a regular occurrence.
He handed her the open wage packet. ‘There you are. Count it, if you like, while I go and put these out on plates before they get too cold to eat.’
‘Hey!’ She caught him by the arm. ‘You seem to forget, there are bills to be paid and I need to get your trousers out of Foggarty’s pawn shop. What you’ve given me is not enough. Oh, and while we’re at it, your son needs new shoes. How he wears ’em out so quick, I never will know!’
But with his troubling thoughts elsewhere, Tom was not listening.
‘Hey! I’m talking to you. What’s wrong with yer?’ Tom seemed too calm to her, too quick to back away from her attempt at an argument.
He looked up. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me except I’m starving. And, no doubt, so is Casey. And, as I recall, it wouldn’t be for the first time.’
‘Don’t you dare have a go at me!’ Ruth snapped. ‘I’ve already told you … I had a pile of ironing and other stuff to see to. Then some man came to the door, looking to sell me some rubbish. I got rid of him, though. Ask Casey, I’m sure he’ll tell you.’ She knew he would, and her idea was to get in first. ‘… And another thing, I’m really surprised at you opening your wage packet. You never do that as a rule.’
Tom looked her in the eye for what seemed an age. He wanted to tell her so many things. He needed to share his troubling thoughts, but she was not a woman to care one way or the other, so instead he answered in a quiet voice, ‘You’re right. I don’t open my wages as a rule, but sometimes, we need to break the rules, don’t we?’
Her face reddened with guilt. ‘That’s a strange thing for you to say.’ There was something really different about him tonight, she thought … something worrying. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found out that she was having a fling with Len. She nervously toyed with the idea that he might be saving the confrontation for later; possibly after Casey had gone to bed.
‘Course I’m all right.’
Tom threw off his coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and went into the scullery. He was surprised to see the back door wide open, and the rain coming in.
‘What’s going on, Ruth?’ There it was again, that niggling suspicion.
Panicked, she stuffed the wage packet into her pocket. ‘What d’you mean? There’s nothing “going on”.’
‘It’s raining, and the back door’s wide open.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Greatly relieved, she gave the first answer that came to mind. ‘I forgot to shut it after I came up from the yard …’
‘I thought you said you’d been changing the beds?’ Now he was in no doubt she was up to her old tricks again. She had been entertaining a man and, by the looks of it, he must have left in a hurry. Tom recalled the figure he’d seen running from the ginnel. He hoped the man was not Len, because that would be humiliation twice over.
Smiling sweetly, Ruth explained, ‘I changed the beds earlier, and then I remembered I’d left the back gate open. I was running in from the rain, and didn’t remember to shut the door behind me. Besides, Casey was yelling for me.’
Closing the door, she made a show of sympathy. ‘Aw, Tom! Just look at the state of you. Come ’ere … I’d best tend to you before I go.’ She lifted the towel from the rail and tenderly ran it through his wet hair, then over his hands and face. ‘That’s better. Now then, husband, you’d better fetch Casey while I put the fish and chips out. There’s nothing so urgent from the corner shop that it won’t wait till tomorrow.’
In truth, she felt too exhausted to go traipsing all the way down the street. That Len was too energetic and demanding for his own good, she mused with a sly little smile.
When Tom took the towel from her, she felt pleased with herself at having duped him yet again. ‘I’m sorry about not having the meal ready.’ Leaning forward, she brushed his face with a fleeting kiss.
Tom could not forget the figure running from the ginnel, and even now the thick aroma of rolled tobacco lingered on her.
When she pecked him on the cheek he simply nodded and moved away. Just now, the touch of her hands was repugnant to him. Making his way out of the scullery, he slung the wet towel into the laundry bin as he went.
As Tom headed for the front parlour, he could hear Ruth loudly complained, ‘I already had sausage and mash planned and now, what with you spending money on fish and chips, I’ve no idea how I’ll stretch it for the bills and everything.’
He called back, ‘You forget, I did that overtime. So you’ll manage. There’s more than enough money to pay the bills and get Casey’s new shoes. As for my trousers, you needn’t bother.’
He was convinced that she and Len had lain together, but he thrust the ugly suspicion aside andwith a quieter heart he quickened his steps.
Life could be very cruel, as he had recently learned only too well, and there was much to be afraid of. But this evening he could spend precious time with his son, and that was all he cared about.
For now.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_378bbf71-6e5c-5ff8-a816-27228a80a182)
OUTSIDE THE FRONT-ROOM Tom paused to listen. Casey had the heart and fingers of a true musician. His technique was not yet perfect, but his artistry was enchanting.
Leaning on the door jamb, his face suffused with pride, Tom murmured as though to the boy, ‘You do your daddy proud, my son. You’re not quite there with the chords, but it’s only a matter of time. More importantly, you’ve got a magic that can never be taught. And that’s what really counts.’
His eyes filled with tears. He despised what he must do. Time and again, he had tried desperately to think of an alternative, but there was none. So now he was resigned; impatient, even, to do the awful deed.
When the music stopped, Tom took a deep breath and gently pushed open the parlour door. ‘That was wonderful,’ he told the boy. ‘I’ve no doubt that one day you’ll make a fine musician.’
Happy to see his father, Casey put aside the guitar and ran to meet him, laughing out loud when Tom swung him in the air before hugging him close.
In that precious moment, with his son close to him, Tom almost lost sight of the path he had chosen. But nothing he could do or say would change what was already set in motion.
‘Was I really good?’ Casey asked when Tom set him down. ‘I asked Mam if I could play the guitar and she said yes. You’re not cross with me, are you?’
Faking a frown, Tom spoke sternly. ‘I should think so! Coming in here, playing my guitar without so much as a by-your-leave! Yes, of course, you’re in trouble. After we’ve eaten, you’re to wash all the dishes, and when that’s done, you’ll set about scrubbing the floor till I can see my face in it. After that, the back yard needs sweeping …’
Casey broke into a grin, and then both he and Tom were laughing out loud. ‘I knew you didn’t mean it,’ Casey giggled. ‘I knew you were only playing. Was I good, though, Daddy?’ he persisted. ‘Did I really play well?’
‘You did, yes. You’ve still a lot to learn, but you’re getting there, and I’m proud of you. Matter o’ fact, you’ve taken to the guitar like you were born to it.’ He ruffled the boy’s thick, brown hair. ‘Y’know what, son?’
‘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 you 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’d 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 across 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?’
Casey gave a nervous little nod. ‘Yes.’ Trembling, he never once looked at his mother, but as he closed the scullery door, he heard her screeching and ranting and, incredibly, she was now pleading.
‘Don’t go all cold on me, Tom,’ she was saying. ‘It’s all summat and nowt. I don’t want it coming between the two of us, and if you try and throw me out on the streets, I’ll make you rue the day, you see if I don’t!’
‘Oh, I see. You think I might throw you out and leave you destitute, is that it? Well! You could not be more wrong, but that’s not to say I shouldn’t throw you out. No, it’s me and Casey who are leaving. We can’t go on like this. After what just happened, I’ve got to mek sure the lad is safe.’
‘You’re not thinking straight, Tom. I’m the boy’s mother, and he belongs here, with me. The truth is, you couldn’t give a bugger what he wants, or you wouldn’t be so intent on splitting the family up.’
‘Don’t make the mistake of painting me with your own brush, Ruth,’ he told her. ‘All I want is for our son to grow up, safe and secure. He can’t do that here, not with you. In my father’s house he’ll have love and security. He’ll be allowed to choose what he wants in life, and he’ll be helped to achieve it, without threat or anger.’
Ruth was as determined to keep the boy with her, as Tom was to take him away. She had never wanted the child, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Tom and Casey sharing a life from which she was excluded. Well, she’d make damned sure Tom didn’t have it all his own way. ‘To hell with what you want! He’s staying here, and that’s an end to it!’ She ranted.
Fearing that his mother would escalate the row, Casey remained locked in the scullery, running the tap and splashing water over his face in an effort to drown out the sound of his parents’ angry voices.
He was afraid. He sensed something awful was about to happen, and he blamed himself. He must have done something wrong, something so terrible that he had set his parents at each other’s throats.
Outside, Ruth would not let up. ‘You’re up to some trick or other, I know you are. So, what is it? What spiteful thing are you planning?’ Made increasingly uneasy by Tom’s quiet mood, Ruth suspected he was not telling her the entire truth. But that was not the total sum of her fears. It dawned on her that if he left her and she was forced to make her own way, how would she manage? She had no work-skills. Through all the years they’d been wed, Tom had always provided for her, so she had never once needed to work. And she had no desire to start now. The idea of not having Tom there to bring in the money was a frightening prospect.
Oh, yes, she could always sell herself; she had done so often enough. But that was simply a sideline; a rewarding pleasure she was free to indulge in whenever the mood took her.
And anyway, what would she do when her figure went to seed, and the wrinkles ravaged her face? No man would look at her twice then, let alone lie with her. However old and unattractive she got, Tom was a man who would always do his duty and bring in a regular wage.
‘Please, Tom, don’t leave me,’ she played on his softer side. ‘I’ll change my ways, I really will.’
In all her married life she had never once belittled herself to plead with him, but the prospect of losing that wage packet on a Friday was too daunting.
‘Sit down, Ruth.’ Tom’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Gesturing to the chair, he waited, but she made no move.
‘Please, Ruth. Sit down. There is something I need to tell you.’ Though after everything that had happened here, he was beginning to think it might be unwise to share his own troubles with her.
Increasingly unnerved by Tom’s manner, she did as he asked. ‘The boy is a liar,’ she stoutly insisted. ‘The little bastard wanted to make you think I had a man in the bedroom, didn’t he, eh? Well, don’t listen to a word he says. Let me talk to him, and I’ll make him tell you the truth.’
Realising yet again that the time was not right to reveal his troubles, Tom decided to keep his own counsel.
‘Listen to me, Ruth,’ he said firmly instead. ‘I really don’t care whether you had a man in the bedroom or not.’ Reaching into his trouser-pocket, he took out the two keys and threw them onto the table, gratified when she shrank back in shock.
‘Whose keys are they? Where did you get them from?’ she asked, trying to regain her composure.
‘From the look on your face, you already know whose keys they are,’ Tom retaliated. ‘They belong to your new man friend, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you where I found them.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘I reckon you’d best get these back to him at the first opportunity … before his missus realises they’ve gone missing.’ He spoke in a disarmingly casual manner.
‘I’m truly sorry, Tom.’ Ruth feigned a tear. ‘All right! You caught me out, but it’s the first time Len’s been here, and I swear it will never happen again. You have my word on it.’
‘I really don’t care what you do any more,’ Tom reminded her. ‘The truth is, he can have you, because once me and Casey have gone from here, we won’t be coming back … ever.’
Tom was all too aware that in the greater scheme of things, there were other urgent issues they should be discussing. But even now he felt it wasn’t the moment to tell her.
Today, as always, she had managed to create a situation that prevented him from confiding in her. Instead, he had no option but to make other, drastic plans, with regard to their son.
He believed that, in view of what had taken place here tonight, he quietly smiled to himself. If he confessed the truth to her, he realised that Ruth would no doubt welcome his news.
All day, he had been in emotional and physical torment; aching to come home and share his news with her. Instead, he had finally discovered that there was no doubt she felt no love or feeling towards him at all.
That was a hard and painful thing for him to learn.
‘I know I’ve done wrong,’ Ruth persisted lamely, her voice trembling. ‘But you have my word, it won’t happen again. It were Len’s fault. He kept bothering me … coming to the door when he knew you wouldn’t be in. But nothing happened. I would never cheat on you with another man.’ Lies came so easily to her.
‘Enough, Ruth, I don’t want to hear any more.’ When she fell silent, Tom went on, his voice cold and unforgiving, ‘I’ve already said, you’re free to go with whichever man takes your fancy, and God only knows there have been enough of them over the years. Fool that I am, I’ve put up with your infidelities for too long, but no more. But all that aside, I won’t stand by while you take your spite out on the boy. That’s all over now. And so is our sham of a marriage.’
‘Please, Tom! You can’t mean that. We need each other. You love me, I know you do.’
‘Well, you’ve tested my love to the very limit. In the back of my mind, I think I knew what you were up to, but I hoped I was wrong. I didn’t want to risk losing you. But now Casey and I are going. I don’t care any longer what you do.’
He gave a small, whimsical smile. ‘I do care about our son, though, and having witnessed how you enjoy hurting him, I’m determined to get him away from here. He’ll be safe enough with his granddad Bob. Oh, and if you so much as show your face there, I’ll inform the authorities how you mercilessly beat the boy for nothing more than telling the truth.’
‘I won’t let you take him! You can bugger off if you want to, but you’re not taking the boy. He’s staying here with me. He’s nearly nine years old; before you can turn round he’ll be fourteen and off to work. That’s when he’ll be old enough to make up his own mind about where he wants to go, and who with. Till then, I’ll decide what’s best for him. He’s staying here, with me, where he belongs!’
‘Oh, I can see it all now. The truth is, you can hardly wait till he’s off to work and bringing home a wage packet. Of course, that’s why you’re so desperate to keep him. You see him as taking my place and earning the money to keep you in fags and idleness. You intend him to support you in the manner you’re used to, while turning a blind eye to the men friends you entertain under this roof.’
‘You’re wrong! I want him to stay here with me, because I’m his mother, and this is where he should be.’
‘Like hell, he should! You don’t give a damn for the boy. You never have. Five years from now, you’ll be too far gone to attract the men, and Casey will take over from me as breadwinner. Well, you can forget it. I’ve no intention of leaving my son here so’s you can ruin his life like you’ve ruined mine.’
Leaving her to reflect on his words, he crossed to the scullery and opened the door. ‘Are you ready, Casey?’
Casey switched off the taps. ‘Yes, Daddy.’
‘Right, then go upstairs and get what you need. You’re coming with me to stay with Granddad Bob.’
Keeping his gaze to the floor, Casey hurried across the parlour and up the stairs, where he began collecting a few belongings. He wasn’t sorry to be going, as long as he was with his daddy.
Downstairs, Ruth ranted on. ‘I’ll have him back before you know it,’ she warned. ‘I’m not done with you yet.’
‘Is that so?’ Tom was also determined. ‘Well then, I’ll make you a promise, shall I? If you try any of your tricks or if you go anywhere near him, I’ll make sure the authorities know what kind of a useless mother you are. They’ll know about the men you entertain, here in our home, with your own son able to hear what’s going on. And I’ll make sure they’re aware of what happened here today. You’ve never had any real love for that boy, and if I was to leave him here with you, I dread to think what might happen.’
Having filled a canvas bag with his few belongings, Casey emerged from the bedroom. He sat down on the stairs, listening, waiting for the angry voices to subside.
It seemed like an age before he dared venture to the parlour door, but when he felt his mother’s eyes on him he kept his gaze averted.
‘Are you ready, son?’ Tom placed an encouraging hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Casey looked into his father’s kindly face. ‘Are we taking the guitar?’
Tom smiled down on him. ‘Yes, so you go and fetch it, while I have a quiet word with your mother. Then we’ll be away from here.’
Relieved and happy that they were going to stay with Granddad Bob for a while, Casey made his way to the front parlour.
Turning to Ruth, who appeared to be in a quieter mood, Tom told her, ‘Oddly enough, I still have feelings for you, but I could never again want you as my wife … not in that way. Not after you’ve shared yourself with other men time and again.’
Ruth made no answer. Instead, while seeming to listen, she slyly glanced to the door, where Casey was now waiting, the guitar safe in its soft cover, and clutched tightly in his arms.
‘Ruth, d’you hear what I’m saying?’ Tom was slightly unnerved by her suddenly calm manner.
‘I’m listening.’ Her smile crept over him.
‘Once I leave here, I’ll be out of your life for good. I will never again set foot in this house, but it goes without saying I can’t speak for our son. Whatever he decides in the future is up to him, but he will always have a place in my father’s house.’
He desperately needed to share his close secret with someone; a secret that was playing heavily on his mind, especially now. He felt angry, and guilty and so alone. Sadly Ruth had never been the kind of woman a person might confide in.
Sensing a weakness about him, Ruth turned on the tears. ‘Please, Tom, don’t leave me destitute. I can’t afford to rent this house on my own. I love you both. I couldn’t bear it if you left.’
‘Sorry but the decision is made. Whatever the cost to me, I intend doing what’s right for Casey.’ Aware that Casey might hear, Tom lowered his voice. ‘The way you went for the boy was shocking. It showed real hatred. I must have been blind or stupid not to have seen it before.’
Realising he’d seen right through her, she boldly admitted, ‘You’re absolutely right, I do have a powerful hatred for the boy, so much so that I shrink inside whenever he comes near me. What’s more, I feel the same way about you … always have done.’
When he looked away she sidled up to him, her voice taunting. ‘So y’see? I don’t give a bugger whether you stay or go, but if you think I’ll hand you a divorce so you can opt out of supporting me financially, you’ve another thought coming.’
Tom instinctively drew back. ‘You don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of keeping him.’ Taking her by the arms, he held her tightly. ‘When did you ever show him any tenderness or guidance? Whenever he brought friends home, you couldn’t wait to get rid of them on some pretext or other. You made them feel uncomfortable, making nasty comments and belittling Casey in front of them, and now he has no friends at all. So, what does that say about you, eh?’
‘You’re twisting things! I was right to get rid of them! Besides, they weren’t real friends! They were cunning little buggers, and they were not welcome in my house.’
‘Your house, is it?’
‘Yes! My house, my son, and my decision. Besides, it’s a mother’s place to vet her son’s friends. What I did was for his own good.’
‘So, tell me, Ruth, if he’s your son, and you know what’s best for him, why did you never cuddle him or sit down and talk with him about school or the music he loves? Why do you never ask how he’s doing at his lessons, or praise him when he achieves something he’s proud of … like the time he played the guitar in assembly. Do you remember, how he came running home all excited, and you just brushed it aside, like it was nothing?’
‘All right! I’ll tell you why I didn’t want to make a fuss. It’s because, unlike you, I don’t want him turning into some kind of softie. Besides, any fool can tap their fingers against a piece o’ wood and make some kind o’ noise. It doesn’t mean they’re summat special.’
‘How would you know? That day, in front of all those parents, teachers and even classmates, our son poured his emotions into the music and the music touched a cord in everyone. He made me proud, but then I expect that’s something you could never understand.’
His words sent her mind reeling back to when she was younger. He was wrong to tell her she could never understand Casey’s talent, because she did understand. She had always understood and hated him all the more for it. In spite of her searching for the bad in him, she found only good. He was a normal boy, back-chatting at times and grating on her nerves when he stood up to her. Occasionally, he had proven to be as disobedient and aggravating as any other boy, but for all that, she recognised something special in him. Something intangible, which awakened the best in everyone, except her. In truth, she envied him.
Casey was everything she was not. He was kind while she was cruel. He needed her but she had never needed him. Unlike her, he had the capability to love, fiercely and with great pride, as in the way he loved Tom and Granddad Bob; while she was incapable of loving anyone. Over the years, she had watched the boy grow into a fine young person under Tom’s guidance, and every day she was punished because of it. Yet, she had never told, and never would.
Even as a baby, when Casey held up his chubby arms for a cuddle, she would turn away – much as she had turned away from her family, where she had looked in vain for love, and even from Tom, a man of principle. A hard-working man, who had always provided for her, and who had, from an early age, loved her without question.
Tom and the boy were not of her world. They were too safe, too predictable. Since childhood she had never wanted a safe world.
And for that, she had neither regrets, nor peace. She had hardened her heart, vowing never to let others hurt her, but they had hurt her, and the pain was like a living thing inside her. It had taught her that love could only ever bring pain.
‘RUTH!’
‘What now?’ Startled out of her reverie, she raged at him, ‘I won’t change my mind. I mean to keep the boy, and there is nothing you or your father can do about it. When the time comes, I’ll make sure he knuckles down, and learns a useful trade. You might be running away, but I won’t allow him to go. It won’t be long before he’ll need to take up his responsibilities. There’ll be no more time wasted on music and such, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘Not if I can help it, you won’t! His granddad thinks as I do.’
‘For pity’s sake, what’s wrong with you? He’s a boy, he should be outside playing football or fighting in the playground, or being trained for summat that might earn him a living, like building or plumbing. Instead he’s wasting his time holding a piece o’ wood and making noises that no one cares about. He’s useless, and the sooner he gets out of school and into a proper job, the happier I’ll be, and that’s the truth.’
Casey had retreated into the passage to lean forlornly against the far wall. ‘Look at him!’ Ruth screeched. ‘Hugging that damned guitar like it were summat precious. It’s nothing but a piece o’ wood, that’s all. Useless … like him!’
Deeply hurt, Casey stepped forward. ‘You don’t understand. When I played in assembly, everybody stood up and clapped. Miss Hardwick said it was beautiful, but you never heard me because you weren’t even there. You don’t care about anything I do.’ When the tears began to flow, he wiped his eyes and brought his sorry gaze to the floor.
Unmoved, Ruth rounded on Tom. ‘Now, see what you’ve done. You’ve got him thinking he’s summat special. He thinks that piece o’ wood is his future, but it’s not and never will be. It won’t earn him a wage, and it won’t make him a man. It’s nothing! D’you hear me?’
Suddenly she rushed across the room and grabbed the guitar out of Casey’s arms. Fighting Tom off as he tried to stop her, she smashed the instrument against the wall where the cover split open, shooting out splinters of wood and tangled strings.
‘That’s what I think of yer precious guitar.’
When she tried to raise the guitar again, Tom wrestled her onto a chair, his voice trembling with anger. ‘You know how much that guitar meant to Casey. Why would you do such a wicked thing?’
‘Huh! I don’t know why I didn’t smash that thing long ago,’ Ruth sneered.
Tom wrapped an arm about Casey’s shoulders. ‘It’ll be all right, son,’ he assured him. Carefully placing the broken instrument into its cover, he handed it to him, saying. ‘Take it with you, and wait for me at the end of the street.’
‘Yeah, go on!’ As the boy made his way along the passage, his mother’s vicious rantings followed him. ‘Get off to yer granddad Bob. Tell him not to mek you too comfortable, ’cause I’ll be along soon enough to fetch yer back!’
With Casey out of earshot, Tom turned on her. ‘What kind of creature are you?’ He remained outwardly calm, though he would gladly have throttled her there and then. ‘If I had any doubts about taking Casey away from here, you’ve just proved that I’ve made the right decision.’
Without another word, he walked out of the room and along the passage.
Ruth ran after him. ‘Think you’re the man, don’t yer, eh? If you try and take my son, I’ll ’ave the police on yer! You’ve no rights, d’you hear me? You’ve no rights!’
‘I’ve every right! Casey is my son, and I’m responsible for his safety. If you interfere, I warn you, Ruth, you’ll be starting something you might regret.’
‘Really? Well, I think you should know, if you try and fight me, you’ll be sorry. You can be sure o’ that.’
Tom was not impressed. ‘I know what you’re up to, but it’s not on.’
‘Huh!’ Her manner changed suddenly. With a sly, triumphant smile on her face, she spoke slowly, so the words would cut deep, ‘Casey … is not … your son.’
For what seemed an age, Tom gave no reply. He felt shocked and numbed, unable to comprehend what she had said.
Turning the knife, Ruth elaborated in a harsh and cruel voice. ‘Truth is, you raised another man’s bastard. After he was born, I used to watch you doting on him, hugging him like he was something precious. You never knew how much I longed to tell you the truth … to take the smile off yer face, but I never did. I’m telling you now, though. He was never yours, and he never will be.’
‘You’re a damned liar!’ Tom was shocked, then enraged. ‘You’ve stooped to many a dodgy thing in your time, but this is really evil. You’d better take back what you said. Take it back … now!’
‘I’m not lying, Tom. Not this time.’ Delighting in his distress, she pressed home her own version of the truth. ‘I’ve no idea who his father is, but I do know it’s not you, because it happened a short time before you and I lay down together. I tricked you, and like the gullible fool that you are, you never suspected; not even when I lied about him being born early. He’s an unwanted little bastard … made down a dark alley with some stranger who had more money than he knew what to do with.’
Stricken to the heart, Tom took her by the shoulders. ‘You’re a wicked, destructive woman, and your lies won’t get Casey back.’ He gripped her so tight she winced with pain. ‘He’s my son. Mine! D’you hear what I’m telling you? Casey is mine and he always will be. Nothing you say or do will ever change that.’
‘Oh, but you’re wrong. You’re not listening, Tom! It isn’t your blood that runs through the boy. It’s the blood of a stranger who never knew what he’d made, and probably couldn’t care less anyway. When the pleasure was over, he went his way and I went mine.’
Her words were like a knife through Tom’s heart. In his mind he went back to the day she told him she was pregnant. Had he really been so gullible?
Now the truth was out after all these years, it was as if a dam had broken in Ruth and the words poured out. ‘Do you remember all that time you were after me, and I turned you away; but then you finally came in useful … if you see what I mean?’ She gave a sly little grin. ‘When I found I were up the duff, I moved Heaven and Earth to be rid of it, but for some reason it wouldn’t be budged, more’s the pity. But there you were, all doe-eyed and in love. I never had any real feelings for you in that way. You were simply a way out of my dilemma. When I told you we were having a baby, oh, you were over the moon. So excited, planning this and that …’ she laughed out loud, ‘… and you never knew that your joy had been another man’s pleasure before we were ever married.’
While Tom took all this in, she watched his agony and felt nothing. ‘The thing is, I’ve done you a favour. You won’t want to be saddled with him now, will yer, eh? Not now you know the truth. He’s not so special after all. Think about it, Tom. For all we know, his real father might have been a dodgy sort with a badness that could rise in the boy at any time. Then there’s the matter of my own blood running through his veins … the blood of a woman you believe to be wicked. Maybe the boy’s a chip off the old block. What if his real father turns out to be some sort of villain, a wanted killer, even?’ The thought amused her. ‘What about that, eh?’
‘Never!’ Though reeling from what she’d told him, Tom ferociously defended the child’s good nature. ‘Casey is nothing like you! He’s good and fine. I’ve raised him to know the right way to live. I’m proud of his every achievement, and I’ve always encouraged him into doing what he loves and what he’s good at. That’s what a father does, and that’s what I am: Casey’s father. I held him when he was born and I’ve nurtured him ever since. I love him and he loves me, and there’s a powerful father-and-son bond between us. No man alive could be prouder of his son than I am of Casey … my son.’
The more distressed he became, the more Ruth revelled in it. ‘Tell him!’ she urged. ‘Go out there and tell him he’s not your son. Then we’ll see who he’ll want to stay with. Tell him he can be with you – someone who had no part in creating him – or he can stay here where he belongs, with his blood mother, the woman who carried him inside her for nine months; the woman who gave birth to him, and raised him, and made sure he had a roof over his head. Tell him how I was made to use my wiles and make sacrifices, to be with a man I didn’t love, so he would always be provided for.’
When he made no move, she rounded on him. ‘Go on! Tell him the truth! Because if you don’t, I will!’ She would much rather Tom told the boy, because then Tom would be outcast instead of her.
But Tom was determined. ‘Casey is my son and I’m his father, and if you tell him anything other, I swear I’ll kill you!’
Seeing him like this, so cold and unforgiving, she took an involuntary step back. ‘Big words for such a little man.’
Tom wisely ignored her remark. ‘I mean it. That boy has gone through enough already, without you telling him he was spawned in some dark alley by his tart of a mother and some stranger who’s long gone.’
‘Sorry, Tom, but the boy has a right to know. So, like I say, if you don’t tell him, I surely will.’
In that moment Tom actually entertained the idea of putting his two hands round her neck and strangling the life out of her. By God, he was sorely tempted.
‘Alongside my own father, Casey is the only good thing in my life,’ he told her. ‘I need to know he’s safe and secure.’
Thrusting her aside, he started down the passage, Ruth right behind him, ranting and raving, telling him how he could not stop her from getting to the boy.
‘If not today, then tomorrow. Either way, you’ve lost him, Tom. But then, he was never yours anyway.’
When Tom tried to get out of the door, she leaped forward to catch him unawares. Grabbing his hair, she caught him off balance and fought him down. But Tom was the stronger. Having swiftly wrestled her to the carpet, he made a dash for the door.
When she clambered up, intent on forcing him back, he instinctively hit out and sent her sprawling. Before she could get up, he was away down the street, the only thought in his mind to find Casey.
Spread-eagled on the floor, Ruth made no effort to get up. ‘You won’t have him for long!’ she shouted after him. ‘When I tell your dad the truth, he won’t even want the little bastard in his house!’
Tom ran down the street, leaving her yelling obscenities. ‘You’ve not heard the last o’ me! I’ll get him back, even if I have to fight you in court.’
Deliberately closing his ears to her screeching, he grew increasingly anxious that Casey might have overheard what she’d said earlier, and her vile threats played on his mind. She’s lying! he tried to convince himself. Casey is my son. She would say anything to suit her own ends; even labelling her own child a bastard. But she won’t get her claws into him, not if I have anything to do with it.
But he knew that keeping her at bay would not be easy and because of his own unfortunate predicament, might even be beyond his control.
‘Dear Lord, what am I to do?’ Slowing his steps, Tom glanced up at the shifting skies and, for the strangest moment, he felt a great sense of peace. The kind of peace that warmed and reassured; easing the restless soul.
But then he thought of the jeopardy Casey was in, and his peace was short-lived.
As he went down the street, calling out for Casey, the next-door neighbours were at the front door looking out. Sylvia Marshall and her husband, William, had lived next to the Denton family these past nine years. Having soon learned that she was trouble, they had given Ruth a wide berth, but they always had a smile for Tom and his son, Casey.
‘I’m worried.’ William was anxious. ‘Something went a hell of a bang. I’m wondering if somebody might be hurt.’
‘Well, thank goodness it’s not Tom or the boy, because we’ve just seen them go off down the street … poor little devil, having to put up with a mother like that! And if Tom’s given that wife of his a good slapping, then it’s no more than she deserves.’ Having overheard a snippet of the argument that had raged on, she could only guess at the rest.
‘I ought to go and see if everything’s all right.’
‘You keep your nose out of it and don’t interfere. They’ve rowed before, and no doubt they’ll row again. She thrives on trouble, you should know that by now.’
Sylvia, however, found herself talking to thin air as her husband followed the shouts and abuse that came from the Denton house. ‘Oh, my!’ At the door, he saw Ruth lying there, still loudly complaining. She appeared half dazed and there was a trickle of blood running down her face. When she madly struggled to get up off the floor, the ornaments fell off the side table one after the other.
‘Whatever’s happened? Here … let me help you …’
As William began to make his way into the house, Ruth gave him a barrage of abuse. ‘Bugger off out of it!’ Snatching a small ornament, she sent it flying through the air, to land at his feet. ‘You’d best clear off before I get up … or you’ll rue the day!’
When he came running back indoors, his wife was in fits of laughter. ‘You silly old fool! I told you not to go, but you never listen, do you?’
‘Hmm!’ Without another word, he skulked into the parlour, lit up his pipe, and sat there, contemplating life and thanking his lucky stars he had married a sensible, understanding wife.
Away from Henry Street, Tom was growing frantic. Casey was nowhere to be seen. He was not in the street, nor was he at the bus stop, and each time he called out, Tom was greeted with silence.
After widening his search beyond Penny Street, he wended his way back to Henry Street. At the back of his mind Tom worried that the boy might have overheard the row. If so, it would have been a devastating shock, flooding Casey’s young mind with all manner of imaginings. Tom hoped with all his heart that the one thing Casey had not heard was his mother’s shocking confession.
Suddenly Tom recalled the place where Casey would go whenever he wanted to be alone or quiet; mostly after school and before his daddy was home. That was the time when Ruth might send him out – so she could entertain her men friends, Tom now knew.
He remembered how much Casey loved the peace and quiet of the Blakewater, a long, winding brook that ran behind Henry Street and on through the lowlands of Blackburn. He quickened his steps towards the place.
Once there, he paused to look over the little stone bridge, and was greatly relieved to see Casey below. A small bundle of humanity scrunched in a heap on the wet cobbles, he was sobbing bitterly, his arms wrapped round the guitar and his head bent low.
Saddened at the sight of that small, innocent child hunched up in the cold and so deeply distressed, Tom thought of where the blame lay. He suspected the worst: that Casey must have heard his mother’s damning confession; that the man he had always known and loved as his father was not his father at all.
Tom felt helpless. While he himself was trying to come to terms with her wicked claim, he could not even imagine the trauma Casey was going through. His heart went out to him.
‘Casey!’ Tom called out.
When there was no answer, he took off at a run, over the bridge and down the slope, where he slithered and slipped on the shifting cobbles. ‘Casey. You had me worried, son. I’ve been searching everywhere for you!’
Casey appeared not to have heard or, as Tom suspected, he chose not to respond.
A few minutes later, Tom was seated cross-legged alongside the child.
‘I’m sorry about earlier, about the shouting and the things that were said, but none of it was your fault, son. Don’t ever think that.’ Deciding it might be wiser not to elevate the situation, Tom slid a comforting arm about Casey’s shoulders. ‘I’m just glad you’re safe. When I couldn’t find you, I got really concerned.’
Tom waited for him to speak. The boy, though, remained silent, afraid to open a conversation that might prove his fears were all too real.
Tom understood. In some inexplicable way he, too, felt immensely safe in those familiar surroundings, and, again like Casey, he was momentarily lost in the peace of that place.
This dark, dank area beneath the Blakewater bridge could never be described as beautiful. Beneath life’s traffic, and surrounded by brick buildings and stone walls, a visitor might be forgiven for thinking he was deep in the bowels of the earth. The air was thick with a pervading stench of rotting food and other perishables routinely thrown into the water from the bridge, yet, for all that, there was something magical about this place. Here an unquiet soul felt safe and uniquely comforted. Unlike people, this ancient bridge would not desert or hurt you.
Now quieter of heart, Tom glanced about him at the tall, ancient walls that had stood for an age, thick and solid, and strong enough to support the houses that had rested on those reliable stone shoulders for many an age.
At certain times, after heavy rains, the shifting stream of Blakewater would rise to cover the walls and flood the passageways into the back yards. Carried by the high water, rats would swim through into the house cellars. Many scampering rodents lost their lives when the frightened residents beat them with spades and threw their corpses back into the swirling, stinking waters.
When the water receded, the rats were carried off, and the walls were left covered in a coat of dark slime, which dripped relentlessly until a brighter day arrived to dry it off.
Now, softly breaking the silence, the delicate splashes of water trickled over the cobbles to create a unique melody. Above them, with the evening closing in fast, the streetlamp cast a flickering, eerie shadow over the fading day.
‘You love it here, don’t you?’ Tom said softly. ‘I can understand why.’ He chided himself for not searching here earlier for the boy.
‘Yes, it’s my favourite place.’ Casey did not look up.
Tom smiled. ‘Mine too.’
Surprised by Tom’s admission, the boy peeped at him out the corner of his eye. ‘When you were little, did you ever run along the bridge wall?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Were you frightened?’
Tom laughed out loud. ‘I were terrified!’
‘So, why did you do it then?’
‘Because …’
‘Because what?’ Casey kept his gaze averted, his arms wrapped round his knees and his head bent as before, but now his face was turned sideways as he gazed up. He felt a deeper sense of security now that Tom was there.
‘Well … because …’ Momentarily lost for words, Tom cast his mind back over the years. ‘Because I think I must have taken leave of my senses.’
When Casey laughed at that, Tom laughed with him, and the sound rippled softly through the air, causing some frightened creature to scurry away under the bridge.
There followed another small silence, before Casey confided his secret. ‘They wanted me to do it, but I never did.’
‘Well, thank God for that!’ Tom shivered inwardly at the way these children regularly risked life and limb, running along a six-inch-wide wall some twenty feet above the water. ‘So, who was it that wanted you to do it?’
‘School pals.’
‘Who were they?’
‘There were two Brindle brothers, and another boy who lives on King Street.’
‘Oh, the Brindles … big family. Yes, I know them.’
‘Well, the Brindle brothers had a race in bare feet. One of them ran on the far wall, and the other ran along the opposite wall. I had to count from one to ten, and see who got to the other side first.’
‘So, who won?’
‘Nobody. They got to the other side at the same time. On a count of eight.’
‘A draw, eh? Well, I think that was OK, don’t you? At least it stopped them from arguing.’
‘No, because they still argued. They said I must have counted wrong, but they were so fast, it was frightening. They ran like the wind … slipping and sliding all over the place, they were. I thought they might fall into the water, but it didn’t even bother ’em! They kept their balance, and made it to the other side.’ When he looked up at Tom, the light from the lamp caught the excitement in his eyes. ‘You should have seen them go, Dad!’
‘I can imagine.’ The Brindle family was boisterous, with the boys, in particular, always up to something.
‘They made it look so exciting, I really wanted to try.’
‘You never did, though, did you?’
Casey gave a huge sigh. ‘No, but sometimes I wish I had.’
‘So, what stopped you?’
‘I tried once, but my foot slipped and I could hardly keep my balance, so I chickened out.’
‘That was very brave.’
The boy gasped. ‘How could it be brave, when I chickened out?’
‘Because sometimes it’s better to admit that it’s too dangerous and stop, instead of going on when your instincts warn you not to.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Yes, really. It takes a wise man to admit when he’s made a wrong decision.’
When Casey suddenly leaned his head on his father’s broad shoulder, it was a tender, deeply bonding moment in which each relived the awful situation that had brought him here.
Eventually the child asked hesitantly, ‘She hates me, doesn’t she?’
‘Are we talking about your mam?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Tom carefully considered his next words, because whatever he said, he could not deny that Ruth had caused a great deal of pain and confusion especially with her cruel revelation to himself.
Casey’s next words only proved the damage Ruth had done. ‘I don’t want to stay with her. I want to be with you and Granddad.’
‘That’s fine, then, because that’s where we’re going.’
Another awkward moment of silence before Casey needed to know, ‘Are you my daddy? Are you really my daddy?’
Choking back the rush of emotion, Tom turned the boy round to face him. ‘I want you to listen to me, son. I want you to hear my every word and never forget it. Can you do that for me?’
When Casey nodded, Tom held him tight before telling him softly, ‘In every way that matters, I truly am your daddy. Your name is Casey Denton, and you are the son of Thomas Denton … that’s me. I was there when you were born, and I was the first one to hold you, after the nurse. Then I placed you tenderly into your mammy’s arms, and the two of us loved you so much, we never wanted to let you go. So, you see, it’s always been the three of us.’
‘So, when I was born she held me. That means she must love me, eh?’
Tom assured him that it was so.
Casey was unsettled, however, his mind questioning everything that Tom said. ‘But if she loved me when I was born, why doesn’t she love me now?’
It was a difficult question for Tom. On the day when Casey was born, Ruth had held him for less than a minute, her manner cold and hard as she returned the baby to him. ‘I don’t want it! Take it back.’ The vehemence in her voice had shaken him to the core.
Unconcerned, the nurse had taken the baby from him and placed him tenderly into the prepared cot.
Afterwards, when he was leaving, the nurse had urged Tom not to be upset by his wife’s words. ‘I promise you, your wife is not the first to reject her newborn. She’s had a very long, painful labour and an extremely difficult birth. Rejecting the baby in the first flush is not an unusual reaction. She’ll come round. They always do.’
After a while, Ruth appeared to have accepted the boy, and no more was said.
Through Casey’s formative years, however, there were occasions when Ruth had shown hostility towards her son. Tom had chosen to dismiss it, but tonight, when she claimed to hate the boy, the awful truth was driven home to him. Ruth really did harbour a sense of hatred towards her son.
‘I don’t think she loves me at all.’ Casey’s voice startled Tom out of his thoughts. ‘Why doesn’t she love me?’
Taking that small face between the palms of his hands, Tom gently wiped away the tears. ‘In all honesty, I don’t know what to tell you, Casey, except that I’m sure she does have feelings for you. The thing is, do any of us know what love really means? Y’see, son, it can mean different things to different people.’ He felt totally out of his depth; wanting to comfort the boy, yet not wanting to lie to him. ‘As for myself, I believe that when you love someone, you have a deep urge to protect them. You want them always to be happy, and never to get hurt, and you’ll do anything to make them safe. That’s what I personally believe love means.’
He paused to gather his thoughts, before going on. ‘But y’see, Casey, not everyone thinks of it in the same way. Someone else might think that love means moulding a person so that he or she can learn to protect themselves and be safe from harm. They want their loved ones to be strong enough to reach their potential in life. They believe that being hard and demanding to their loved ones is the right way to be, even though it could make them appear cruel.’
‘But she is cruel. She never cuddles me. She likes to hurt me, and make me cry.’
Tom was deeply saddened by the child’s words. ‘The thing is, Casey, people like your mother don’t know any other way. They think that cuddling and being soft is wrong, and that their way is best.’
For what seemed an age, Casey remained silent. Then, looking Tom in the eye, he told him in a clear voice, ‘I don’t like her, and I don’t like that kind of love, and I don’t want her to be my mam any more.’
‘That’s your choice, son, and I respect that. You have every right to speak your mind. But you must never hate, because hatred is a terrible, destructive thing. It’s like I was saying, we’re all different, and we all deal differently with particular situations. I agree … some people’s kind of love is complicated. It isn’t for you and it isn’t for me either, but people can’t help the way they are, and though we might not care for their kind of love, we have to accept it. That’s just the way it is.’
‘So …’ in his young mind, Casey tried to make sense of it all, ‘… you’re telling me that my mam really does love me, only in a different way?’
‘Well, yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘So, why did you take me away from her? Why did you say you never want me to live with her again?’
Realising that Casey had heard more than he’d first thought, Tom gave him a simple explanation that he hoped would finish the conversation right there. ‘Well, the way I see it is this. You said yourself that you didn’t like her kind of love.’
‘I don’t!’
‘OK. So, if you stayed with her, you would be unhappy, is that right?’
‘Yes!’
‘And you might refuse to accept her kind of love and even fight against it, because you think she’s cruel and unkind. So, there might be arguments and fights and she would get angry and hit out. And the whole situation would escalate into a war between you. Am I right?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to live with her, because she’s too cruel. She tells lies, and she hit me with her fists, and she smashed up the guitar.’ Scrambling to his feet, he began to cry. ‘I don’t want her to love me any more. I’m glad you took me away because I don’t want her. I only want you and Granddad Bob.’
‘And that’s your final decision, is it?’ Tom was satisfied that his attempted interpretation of Ruth’s ‘love’ for Casey had somehow helped; making him realise that, his mother had proved herself to be more than capable of making his life a misery, and that it was all right for him to leave.
It was a huge source of comfort to Tom that his boy would be out of harm’s reach, and safely settled with his granddad.
‘Come on then, son.’ Securing the guitar over Casey’s shoulder, he swung him into his arms. ‘We’d best go and tell Granddad Bob.’
‘Will you tell him how Mam smashed up your guitar?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll see that for himself.’
‘He won’t be pleased.’
‘You’re right. He won’t.’
‘What else will you tell him?’ Casey remembered the man who he heard in his mother’s bedroom, and the others who had been there before him.
Suspecting the reasoning behind this question, Tom feigned a chuckle. ‘I’ll tell him he’s got two smelly lodgers from the Blakewater, and that we both need a hot bath.’
‘And that we’re cold and hungry, eh?’ Casey was excited.
‘OK, that too.’
‘Yeah!’ Casey was famished. ‘If Granddad’s made a meat and potato pie, there might be some left over.’
With that in mind, they headed for the nearest bus stop, where they sat on the wooden bench to wait.
When, some ten minutes later, the bus arrived, the two of them climbed aboard and seated themselves on the seat furthest from the doors. ‘We’ll be far enough away from the draught here,’ Tom decided.
Tom bought two single tickets to Preston New Road. From there, they would walk down to Addison Street, where he was born and grew up.
Realising how much was at stake following his decision, he was deeply apprehensive. So many things to think about. So much responsibility. Of late, he had been called upon to take the most important decisions of his life. Heart-breaking decisions that would affect those he loved. He had never wished to be in this situation, but now that he was, he had to face it with hard determination, or be lost.
There was too much to think about, too much that he did not understand. He was forced to act, and he did so after long deliberation, and with a sad heart. There was much regret and, more importantly, too much left unsaid.
‘Daddy!’
Casey’s raised voice startled him. ‘Ssh! Don’t be so loud, Casey. There are other people on this bus.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad, but I need to ask something.’
‘All right, I’m listening. What is it you want to say?’
‘I just wanted to know … if you were sad?’ The memory of that awful row between his parents had really unsettled him.
Smiling assuredly, Tom answered, ‘Well, I might have been just a little bit sad, but I’m happy enough now. What about you?’
‘I’m really happy now, ’cause I’ll be with you and Granddad.’ Easier of heart, the boy resumed looking through the window; and while he counted the streetlamps as they flashed by, Tom turned his mind to other, burning issues.
His thoughts were torn between his own dear father, and this darling boy whom he loved with a passion. They were his responsibility, and he could not help but be afraid for them.
Ruth was a born survivor. With tooth and nail, she would always find a way. Surprisingly, even though she had caused him anguish over the years, Tom was still able to think of her in a kindly way.
A long time ago he had stopped trying to fathom her sudden bouts of wicked temper and the spiteful manner in which she flew at the boy for any reason. Yet though her behaviour maddened him at times, he could find no lasting hatred in his heart towards her.
Through the years, his love for her had been tested many times, but he could not deny the affection he felt towards her. Yes, she was a cheat, and yes, she could be cruel and violent at times. But even though the boy might have come from another man’s seed – though Tom hoped that was not the case – Ruth had still given him the best gift any woman could give her man. She had offered him a son to love and raise, and he had come to love the boy, heart and soul.
Soon, though, young Casey would be sorely tested, and right now Tom prayed he had provided him with the right tools to deal with life. Because all too soon, it would be time for him to leave.
When Tom looked up, Casey smiled at him, a trusting, innocent smile.
Tom returned the smile, but behind it lay a great reservoir of loneliness, and a forlorn hope that he might be forgiven for what he soon must do.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5d8bcd9c-ef61-5e91-b26a-cfd24ef39c86)
FOR A MAN in his mid-sixties, Bob Denton was both strong and able, though, as was to be expected, he suffered the aches and pains of increasing age.
A contented man, he considered himself to be fortunate in having married the girl he loved and fathered a wonderful son. He would have liked more children, but Tom was destined to be the only one. The joy he brought was immeasurable and he had been a huge comfort to his father when, some nine years ago, Tom’s mother had died of TB.
That had been a desperately trying time for both Tom and his father, and, sharing the grief as best they could, they drew strength from each other.
Tom had married Ruth about that time, and his marriage and the birth of his son had given him a degree of consolation. Bob, meanwhile, feverishly immersed himself in his work at the quarries, and when young Casey was born, the old man’s heart was happier than it had been for months. Seemingly gifted with a deep love and a joyful ability for music, the boy had given him another reason to keep going. Bob still missed his lovely woman – that would never change – but he tried to move on in life as best he could.
The previous year, Bob had retired from work, so now all he had was his son and his grandson, two people he loved more than life itself. As for Ruth, he had tried many times to befriend her, but she was not an easy woman to get close to. In the end, he had no choice but to give up trying, yet it was a situation he still fretted over.
Like it or not, Ruth carried the name of Denton. She was his daughter-in-law, the wife of his only son, and the mother of his only grandchild, but because she had little time for him, he hardly knew her.
He had always considered that to be a great pity.
Having eaten his dinner and washed the dishes, Bob was now putting them away in the cupboard. Got to keep the place tidy, he thought. As my lovely woman used to say, ‘You never know when you might get visitors.’
Like the rest of this lived-in kind of house, the kitchen was a homely place, not ‘posh’, and certainly not pristine. A well-worn, crinkled mat was at the door, and a row of pretty floral teacups decorated the shelves of the kitchen cabinet. More often than not, there was a used cup on the draining board, next to the tea caddy, and beside that was a barrel of biscuits.
Many things were naturally reused. Every morning Bob would scrunch up yesterday’s newspaper and spread it beneath the wood and coal in the fire grate. Later, when he slumped in his favourite armchair to smoke his pipe and read his paper, he would light the fire, and enjoy the evening warming his toes, and eating his hot stew. If there was any stew left over, he’d always take it down to the butcher, who would be very grateful. ‘I’ll give it to the pigs,’ he would say. ‘Mek the meat taste that much richer, eh?’ Bob told him he didn’t want that information, thank you. It was enough to know that the leftovers were of a use to him.
This little house was Bob’s castle. It had known much love and laughter – a house adorned with mementoes of good times – and when you went inside it was like a pair of strong arms wrapping themselves about you, covering you with warmth and love, which over the years had steeped into the walls for all time.
Arranged on the sitting-room walls were many beautiful sketches of local landscapes, each and every one lovingly created by Bob’s talented wife, Anne.
With much love and a true painter’s eye, she had sketched the green, meandering fields around Pleasington: the town hall on a sunny day; the canal with its colourful barges; even a painting of Addison Street, with its loaf-shaped cobbles and tall iron streetlamps, which lit the way home at night, and provided the supports for children’s swings during the day.
It was said that once you’d enjoyed the unique experience of Addison Street, you would never forget it. If you approached the street from the bottom, you had to lean your body forward at a sharp angle, in order to climb to the top.
But if you approached Addison Street from Preston New Road at the top, you would need to be feet first and leaning backwards, in the opposite direction.
Negotiating the street from top to bottom was either foolhardy, or an act of sheer bravery, the locals claimed. It was so impossibly steep that you could never adopt a leisurely pace, though with legs slightly bent and your whole body leaning backwards for balance, you might start off with that intention. The first few steps might give you the confidence to accelerate slightly, but unless you had a desire to be catapulted into Never Never Land, you would be well advised to take it slowly; though that might be harder than you envisaged.
Inevitably you would find yourself increasing pace, going faster and faster, until you started running; by that point, in an uncontrollable and terrifying manner. With your best hat flown away, and hair standing on end, your last resort would be to pray you might get to the bottom without injury.
Once there, with shattered nerves and a fast-beating heart, you’d be anxious to resume your journey on level ground, promising yourself that never again would you be so careless of life and limb.
Some wary adults learned to negotiate the street by walking sideways with their backs to the wall as they edged along; others were known to hang onto the door handles as they inched their way down. And a few staunch heroes might brave the ordeal with a forced smile on their faces.
Most adults dreaded the ordeal of negotiating Addison Street, but children would happily throw caution to the winds as they ran from top to bottom, whooping and hollering. When it seemed they might take off and launch themselves into the wild blue yonder, they would catch hold of a passing lamppost and swing round and round until they fell in a dizzy heap on the pavement.
Some said it was better than a free funfair, while Granddad Bob claimed it was his beloved Addison Street that kept him ‘fit for owt’.
Having just tidied the kitchen, Bob planned to amble his way to the back parlour, where he would settle down with pipe and paper, and choose a likely winning horse from the racing page.
As he went into the passageway, he was surprised and slightly irritated by a determined knock on the door.
He opened the front door, delighted to see Tom and Casey.
‘Well, I never!’ Opening his arms, he took the boy into his embrace before inviting him to, ‘Get yer coat off an’ help yourself to a ginger biscuit from the barrel in the kitchen cabinet. Oh, and by the way, your comics are still in the drawer, if you’re wondering.’
Curious, he glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was almost 8 p.m. At this time of evening, the boy should be at home, getting ready for his bed. And when Tom hung his coat up, the old fella noticed that he was still in his working clothes. That was odd, he thought worriedly. ‘Come through, lad. Looks to me like we need to talk, eh?’
Leaving the boy to his biscuits and comic, Bob led his son to the back parlour, where Tom stood with his back to the fireplace, while his father sat himself in the big old armchair.
‘What’s wrong, lad?’ Though a working man, married with a child, Tom was always referred to by his father as ‘lad’. In an odd way, it gave him a sense of comfort, but not tonight, because tonight, there was nothing on earth that might comfort him.
‘I’ve left her.’ Tom spoke softly so the boy might not hear. He was not proud of his decision, however justified it might be. Nor was he proud of the awful burden he was about to heap on this dear man. ‘We’re not going back, Dad. Not ever!’
When his father made no response, Tom saw the worry in his face. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I know it was a drastic step to take, but this time, she’s gone too far.’ In his mind’s eye he could see Ruth wildly attacking Casey, and the boy flinching from her, his arms held high in a feeble effort to protect himself.
‘I see.’ Bob gave a small, understanding smile. ‘You had another bad set-to with Ruth, am I right?’
‘Yes.’ He had no intentions of revealing the shocking thing Ruth had confessed to him about the stranger in the alley being Casey’s true father.
‘Hmm. Well now, with you and Ruth at loggerheads, and all things taken into account, I can mebbe understand you not wanting to go back, but have you considered what Casey wants? Oh, I know he’s not yet of an age when he can reason for himself, but he has a quick mind and a voice with which to express his own views. I trust you’ve taken his feelings into account when you say you’re “never” going back? And besides, who’s to say this upset with Ruth won’t blow over, like they’ve done many times before?’
‘Not this time, Dad.’
‘So, why not this time? What’s gone on between the two of you that’s so unforgivable it can’t be put right?’
Tom felt the anger rise in him. ‘It can’t ever be put right, Dad, because, like I say, this time she’s gone too far altogether!’
‘But in what way?’
‘It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is, she’s shown her true colours. Take my word, Dad, me and Casey are well out of it. I want nothing more to do with her. It was Casey himself who asked me to bring him here, so he could live here with you. He told me he never wants to go back there.’
For a long, tense moment, the air was thick with Tom’s outburst. Then, almost in a whisper, Bob revealed what was on his mind. ‘This upset between you and Ruth … a man, was it?’
For some time now, he had overheard snippets of worrying gossip. He kept them to himself, because like many a parent, he believed any problems should be taken care of inside the relationship, though it seemed in this particular case that might be too much to ask. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, lad? That wandering wife o’ yourn has been cheating on you again.’
Tom was shocked. ‘What makes you ask that?’ He had no idea that his father was aware of Ruth’s seedy other life.
‘Oh, lad! I might be long in the tooth, but I’m not a fool.’ When under pressure, Bob had a habit of biting his bottom lip, which he did now. ‘The thing is, I’ve heard mutterings now and then. I had hoped it was just idle gossip amongst folks who’d got nothing better to do. I’m sorry, Tom. I should have known there’s no smoke without fire. So, is it true then … what they say?’
Tom merely nodded, his sense of shame increasing tenfold.
Getting out of his chair, Bob went to the door and softly closed it. Then he laid his broad, comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘You and the boy can stay ’ere as long as you need to. I’ll not ask any questions, and I’ll not intrude in your marriage … unless o’ course you need me to. Whichever way you want to handle it, lad, I’m here for you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Tom was deeply moved by his father’s support. ‘I promise you, Dad, I haven’t taken this step lightly. For a long time now, I’ve tried to keep the marriage together, mainly for Casey’s sake – you’ve no idea how I’ve tried – but she doesn’t love us … not me, and certainly not the boy.’
In that moment, he believed he was the one who had failed, and that things could only get worse. It broke his heart to realise that, out of all this chaos, the person who would be hurt most was young Casey.
As Tom hung his head and choked back the tears, his father held him close. ‘It’ll be all right, son,’ he said. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, me and you … and our precious boy.’
Tom gave no answer. Instead he kept his head buried in his father’s shoulders until his sobs began to subside.
The old man also had tears in his eyes. ‘Hey, come on now, lad. Don’t let the boy see you like this. Best get to your bed, eh? Right now, your mind is all over the place. In the morning, we’ll all be thinking clearly, then we’ll talk it through, and deal with it.’
Holding Tom at arm’s length, he was relieved when Tom smiled back at him. ‘That’s better, son. So, is my plan a good ’un, d’you think?’
‘Yeah, Dad. As good as any I’ve heard.’
When his father seemed relieved, Tom regretted not being able to tell him about the other matter that haunted him. For some time now, Tom had been on the brink of confiding in that dear man, but he could not bring himself to burden him with such crippling news, even though he knew his father would move Heaven and Earth to bring him a measure of peace.
So now, as he thanked his father for accommodating him and Casey, Tom managed a smile; though it was a shallow effort.
Tom was well versed in putting on a brave face, so the old man had no idea that his son was carrying a much heavier burden than he was yet ready to reveal.
Sometimes in life, bad things happened and there was no real explanation as to why. All Tom knew was that these past weeks had been almost unbearable. There was no way for him to ease his mind, and no way he could share the load. So, he carried the burden alone; praying that somehow, his instincts might lead him to do the right thing, for everyone; especially his son.
Somewhere deep inside himself, Tom wanted to believe that Ruth did love the boy, and yet her every word, look and action showed only hatred. Casey felt her rejection of him, and in turn he began to lose both respect and love for his mother. It was a difficult situation, which over the years, had widened the rift between Tom and his wife, and made him love his son even more.
His thoughts now turned to his father. The truth was that however the darling old man might want to ‘work out’ his son’s problems, there was no way that could ever happen. What was done was already done, and there could be no turning back.
In her seemingly cruel way, Fate had intervened.
The dice were thrown and there were no winners.
‘I reckon you’d best get the boy to bed, afore he falls asleep on the kitchen floor.’ Tom was jolted out of his thoughts by his father’s timely reminder.
‘I’ll do that right now,’ Tom answered. ‘Mind you, I don’t suppose he’d care much if we left him there till morning.’
‘Well, we’re not having that. So, go on, you put your son to bed, and meantime I’ll get us a drop o’ summat good to warm the cockles.’ Reaching out, he patted Tom on the arm. ‘How does that sound, eh?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Tom looked into those kindly blue eyes and for one precious moment he felt incredibly safe; even strong enough to take on the world all by himself. ‘I can never thank you enough, Dad, for taking us in like this.’
‘Oh, give over. You and me, we look after each other. Always have, always will.’ He gave Tom a friendly push. ‘Now then, be off and get the lad to his bed.’
As Tom hurried towards the kitchen, Bob called after him, ‘You needn’t worry if you didn’t have time to pack a bag for the lad. Casey allus keeps a spare pair o’ jamas here. And I’ve enough shirts upstairs to open a shop. Find one that doesn’t altogether drown him, and he’ll come to no harm. Now then! Don’t forget to fetch him in ’ere, so’s he can say good night to his old granddad.’
Tom found Casey on the kitchen floor, with the comic spread out in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. Instead, he was lying flat, with his arms stretched out, and his head resting on his arms. ‘It’s time for bed, son.’ Tom stooped down beside him. ‘Granddad Bob needs you to say good night.’
Big, soulful eyes looked up at Tom. ‘Did Granddad Bob say we can stay here then?’ His voice was suspiciously shaky, and from the smudges round his eyes, Tom suspected he’d been crying.
‘We can stay here as long as we want, that’s what he said.’
‘Can’t I stay up a bit longer?’
‘No, son. You’ve had a rough time of it. You need to get your sleep. You look shattered, and besides, me and Granddad Bob need to talk … grown-up stuff, if you know what I mean?’
‘About that man?’
‘About all sorts of things.’ Tom wisely skirted the reference to ‘that man’.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes.’ Taking the boy by his arms, Tom drew him up. ‘What is it, son?’
‘I don’t think I can go to sleep.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’ Tom needed to satisfy himself that, tonight of all nights, his son should sleep well and be safe from harm.
One thing was certain: there would be no sleep for Tom himself. Not with his mind in such turmoil. He needed space and quiet in order to think things through. He had to be sure he was doing the right thing for everyone, and not just for himself. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, he had made an agonising decision, which was bound to cause further pain and regrets for those he loved.
To his surprise, he found himself counting Ruth in that group. He knew she could be unbelievably cruel, and he deeply regretted the shame she had brought to their marriage. Moreover, he had seen at first hand her uncontrollable dislike for the boy. And yet, for some reason, Tom was surprised to find that he still had feelings for her.
Angry and confused, he thrust away his thoughts and concentrated on Casey. ‘Right then, son, let’s have you. First, you can say good night to your granddad, then it’s off up them stairs.’
‘OK.’ Without further ado, the boy replaced the biscuit barrel to the shelf, then he folded his comic and tucked it under his arm, before giving a long, lazy yawn. ‘Did Granddad really say we can stay here?’
‘If we want to, yes.’
‘Well, I want to, ’cause I never want to go back home.’
‘All right, son, but for now, I need you to put it all out of your mind and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, isn’t that so?’ He thought it surprising that, even after all the turmoil and troubles, the boy still referred to that unhappy dwelling on Henry Street as ‘home’.
Granddad Bob held Casey a moment longer than he might normally have done. ‘You’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ he said, ‘but it’s all behind you now, so put it out of your mind, lad. And while you’re here, you and your dad must treat this place as your own home. D’you understand?’
‘Thank you.’ The boy hugged him. ‘I love you, Granddad Bob.’
‘Mek sure you do, or you’ll get no more ginger biscuits.’ He gave a little wink. ‘Right?’
‘Right!’
Giggling, Casey ran across to his father. ‘Granddad Bob is really funny.’
Tom laughed. ‘Until you leave the bathroom in a mess, then you’ll find out differently.’
‘I don’t leave the bathroom in a mess.’
‘Ah, well, that’s a good job then, isn’t it?’
As the two of them went up the stairs, chatting and laughing, the old man remained deep in thought.
The boy’s overheard remark about ‘that man’ had only confirmed his suspicions about Ruth’s continuing affairs.
Yet Bob wondered whether that was just one reason for Tom’s distress. He couldn’t help but feel that Tom was keeping something back. Something he was not yet ready to share. What else besides his marriage had gone wrong?
The idea of Tom carrying some deep problem he felt unable to share was deeply worrying to the old man; so much so that he began pacing back and forth across the parlour.
Upstairs, Tom lingered by the bathroom door while young Casey squirted a measure of toothpaste onto his finger before rubbing it into his teeth. ‘If we’re staying here now, I’ll need a new toothbrush. I don’t want to go back and get my old one. Is that all right, Dad?’
‘Fine by me, so long as you stop talking and get on with the business of cleaning your teeth.’
A few minutes later, Casey was done. He then wiped the basin over with a flannel. ‘That’s all clean now, eh, Dad?’ Combing his tousled hair, he smiled at Tom.
‘Why yes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a clean basin. I reckon Granddad Bob will be very pleased with that. You know how fussy he is about his bathroom.’
As they made their way to the small bedroom, Casey wanted to know, ‘Why is Granddad Bob so fussy about his bathroom?’
Tom gave it some thought. ‘I reckon it’s because, for a long time, we never had a proper bathroom. My mother – the grandma you never knew – well, she always dreamed of having a proper bathroom, instead of bringing in the tin bath that hung on the wall outside. So anyway, when they finally got the boxroom turned into a bathroom, Mam was so happy that she was very particular about having it left clean and tidy.’
‘Why was she so puticlar?’
‘I think you mean “particular”.’
‘Hmm! Well, why was she so … you know … that?’
‘I’ll answer your question when you say the word properly.’ Tom sounded it out: ‘Par-tic-u-lar.’
‘All right then. So, why was she so par-tic-u-lar?’
Laughing, Tom clapped his hands. ‘Well done! Mum was so proud of the bathroom that she wanted visitors to see it in all its shining glory, polished up and clean as a whistle. Your granddad remembers that, and it’s why he, too, wants the bathroom always to be left clean, just the way Grandma would have liked it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Casey was happy with the explanation.
Tom turned back the bedclothes and Casey climbed in.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, son?’
‘I love it here, with Granddad Bob.’
‘Good.’
‘Can we stay for ever?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Would you like to stay here for ever, Dad?’
‘I think so.’ If things were different, he wondered if his answer might have been more definite.
‘And d’you think Granddad Bob would be willing to put up with us, if we stayed for ever, I mean?’
‘Yes, ’cause we’d be sure and look after him, wouldn’t we?’
‘That’s right! You could take him to the pub sometimes, and in the summer we could go on picnics; he’d like that. And I could run errands and fetch in the coal. We could go to Blackpool on Sundays and ride on the hobby-horses and after that, we could make sandcastles on the beach. Oh, and then—’
‘Whoa!’ Tom laughed out loud. ‘That all sounds too exhausting and wonderful, and I’m sure Granddad Bob would love it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to get all wound up just now, when I need you to go to sleep.’ He added cautiously, ‘No doubt there’ll be time for all that later on.’
The memories of his own wonderful childhood flooded Tom’s mind and lifted his heart. Lately, though, he had discovered that sometimes life was really cruel.
When the boy yawned again, Tom tucked the bedclothes over him. ‘I’m so proud of you, son.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers twining through the boy’s thick hair. ‘No man ever had a more wonderful son.’
‘Dad?’
‘Go to sleep, Casey.’
‘But I want to ask you a question.’
‘Aw, go on then. But that’s the last one.’
‘Are you proud of me when I play the guitar and sing?’
‘Of course. How could I not be proud of you, eh? You have a gift, and you must always use it. But I’m not only proud of you for that. I’m proud of you because you’re a good boy. It makes me feel special to have a son as fine as you.’
For a moment he paused, looking Casey in the eye. ‘I want you to tell me the truth, Casey. Are you sorry we left home … and your mam?’
‘No, Dad, I’m not sorry. I can’t be happy at home, because Mam won’t let me be. She gets angry and she makes me cry, even when I haven’t done anything wrong.’
Tom received the boy’s answer with mixed feelings. ‘Do you think you might be able to forgive her … some day in the future?’
Lowering his gaze, Casey considered Tom’s question before answering quietly, ‘I don’t know. Sometimes, I don’t like Mam very much, and sometimes … well, I think I might love her. Only she doesn’t want me to love her, and she won’t love me back.’
‘I understand what you’re saying,’ Tom reassured him. In his heart he was content to think that Ruth might never again get her claws into this boy. Then again, Casey was her son, and he needed a mother. And yet, if Ruth really had no warm feelings for him, he might be better off without her altogether.
‘It’s difficult to love someone, isn’t it?’ Tom said now. ‘Like you, I’m not really sure if she wants us or not. But there’s always the chance that she’ll change her mind. And if that happens, it would of course be for you to decide whether or not you want to forgive her.’
‘I’ll never forgive her!’ Casey had not forgotten. ‘She called me a liar, and I know what I heard. Anyway, she doesn’t want me. She said so.’
Before Tom could reply, the boy asked quietly, ‘She meant it, didn’t she, Dad?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Yes, I think she did … at the time, but when we’re angry, we all say all kinds of things we don’t mean.’
‘Well, if she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her. I’ve made up my mind, and I won’t go back.’
‘All right, son. That’s enough now. We’re here at Granddad’s, and he said you can stay as long as you want. So, let’s leave it at that, shall we?’
‘All right.’
‘I love you, Casey, and all I want is for you to be happy.’
‘But I can’t be happy just now, ’cause I’m a little bit sad that I can’t play the guitar any more.’
‘Then we’ll just have to get it mended, won’t we?’
‘How can we do that?’ He looked up at Tom with wide eyes, the tearful words tumbling one over the other. ‘It’s all busted, and the strings have jumped out, and … it’s no good any more.’
Tom gathered him into his arms. ‘Trust me, son,’ he murmured, ‘it can be mended.’
‘But, it’s all in bits.’ Casey’s tears spilled over. ‘It can’t ever be mended. Never, never!’
‘Hey!’ Tom wagged a finger. ‘Have I ever promised to do something that can’t be done?’
The child shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Right! So trust me now. Tears and tantrums won’t mend anything. But there must be a man out there who can mend whatever needs mending; even a guitar with “jumped-out” strings, and bits of wood missing.’
‘Where is he, then?’
‘Well, I can’t be really sure, not yet, but there must be someone out there. I mean, there are clockmakers to mend clocks; tailors to repair clothes, and mechanics to mend broken engines. So I reckon that means there must be someone who mends guitars. Isn’t that so?’
Tom was rewarded with a bright, happy smile. ‘Yeah! And we’ll find him, won’t we, Dad?’
Relieved that the boy’s spirits were up again, Tom gave an encouraging nod. ‘Now close your eyes and go to sleep.’
‘Dad?’
‘What now?’
‘Will you tell me that story, about when you were a little boy, and Granddad used to take you to Mill Hill bridge, where you watched the trains running underneath, and all the steam blew up into your faces?’ He grinned at the thought. ‘You said you felt invisible.’
‘That’s right, son. Oh, but they were wonderful times. I was a very lucky boy to have those adventures.’ Just now, when Casey mentioned the railway bridge at Mill Hill, Tom’s heart had almost stopped, because that particular place from his childhood had played heavily on his mind lately.
Now, though, because of the boy’s curiosity, he was made to revisit Mill Hill bridge in his mind once more. The thought of his father and himself walking under that picturesque viaduct and onwards, up the bank and along the curve of the bridge itself, was one of Tom’s most precious memories.
When other, darker thoughts clouded his troubled mind, he smiled at the irony. ‘Are you sure you want that particular story, son?’
‘Yes, please.’
With mixed emotions, Tom told the story about the days when he and Granddad Bob had regularly stood on the bridge for hours, watching the trains as they made their noisy way beneath, sending clouds of steam upwards and outwards. There was always much laughter when the steam enveloped the two of them, before quickly evaporating in the air.
While Casey laughed aloud, Tom blinked away stinging tears. ‘Soon the next train would come along,’ he went on, ‘and sometimes we’d lean over the bridge wall, with your granddad Bob hanging onto my pants to stop me from falling headfirst onto the railway lines below. The steam was everywhere. When we finally came away, my hair would feel really damp to the touch. Then Granddad Bob would always threaten to turn me upside down when we got home.’
‘Why would he turn you upside down?’
‘So’s he could wash the kitchen floor with my damp hair … or at least that’s what he said.’
Casey laughed out loud. ‘He wouldn’t really do that, would he?’
‘No, it was just his idea of a joke.’
Having been persuaded to tell the tale for the umpteenth time, Tom’s heart was heavy.
Nevertheless, he told it as promised, right to the end; by which time Casey was fast asleep.
Tom stayed with him for a while. He held his hand, and watched him sleeping. His tearful eyes roved over that small, familiar face, and for a precious time he lay beside him, oddly content just to watch him sleep.
In those precious moments of quiet, he could almost hear the boy’s heartbeat, as regular as a clock counting away the minutes.
Tom closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. ‘Dear Lord above, please help me to be strong, and forgive me if you can. And it would give me some peace if you could find your way to making Casey’s wishes come true. Could you show him the way to become a fine musician? It isn’t much to ask, is it, not when he’s already losing so much in his turbulent young life?’ He felt guilty and so very sad.
When, a few moments later, Tom found himself falling asleep, he clambered off the bed and, after making sure Casey was resting easy, made his way downstairs.
His father was sitting in the armchair beside a warm, crackling fire.
‘Oh, ’ere you are, Tom. I were beginning to think you’d gone to bed, an’ all,’ he remarked cheerily. ‘Mind you, I nearly nodded off meself a minute or two back. I’ll not be long afore I make my own way up them stairs, I can tell you.’
‘It was a while before Casey closed his eyes,’ Tom explained. ‘He had so many questions. His main worry was how to get the guitar mended, after Ruth smashed it to pieces.’
The old man tutted angrily. ‘Smashed it to pieces, eh? Shame on the woman! That was a terrible, wicked thing to do, even for her!’
Tom, too, had been astonished at the violent way in which she’d smashed the guitar into the wall; almost as though she was taking her rage out on a living thing … a person, maybe.
Bob went on thoughtfully, ‘Don’t say anything to the lad just yet in case it comes to nothing, but I recall somebody talking in the pub last week. They’re thinking of having a piano player of a Sat’day night, and it seems there’s a fella round these parts who knows a great deal about musical instruments and such. Mebbe he can rebuild that guitar?’
The idea gave Tom a deal of contentment before the feeling of sadness took hold again. He closed his eyes and thought of Ruth, and he regretted with all his heart the pain she had caused that young boy.
His own pain was of no importance compared to other issues, but he felt really hurt for Casey, who had his whole life ahead of him, with all its unexpected twists and turns.
The old man had seen the change in his son’s manner. ‘You look like somebody lost,’ he said. ‘Sit yersel’ down, lad. I’ve poured you a drop o’ gin. It’ll help wash your troubles away.’ He gestured to the tumbler on the small table. ‘Get it down you, lad. It’ll do you a world o’ good.’
Making a smile, Tom took the glass and settled in the opposite armchair beside the fire. Being closer now, he observed the rosy glow in his dad’s weathered old face, but it was the twinkle in his eye that gave him away. ‘Looks to me like you’ve started without me,’ Tom laughed. ‘Not that I blame you, because we both need a tipple after what’s happened.’
The old man nodded. ‘There’s nowt wrong wi’ a drop o’ the good stuff now and then, so long as you don’t let it become a habit. Everything in moderation – isn’t that what they say? A little drop occasionally, that’s the trick. Enough for you to celebrate when you’re on the up, and lift your spirits when you’re down.’
Tom agreed. ‘So, where are we now, up or down?’
‘Well, with you having to leave your wife, I’d say we were down a while ago, but now that you and my grandson are ’ere with me, safe and well, I reckon we must be on the up. So, to my mind, that calls for another little tipple.’ He held out his empty glass. ‘Not too much, mind. We’ve things to talk through, and I need a clear ’ead on me shoulders.’
So, they had a second little tipple, and talked into the late hours. Tom explained how Ruth had been sleeping with one of his workmates, and that she’d entertained him in their own house, in their own bed, and worse, ‘Young Casey was right there, outside the bedroom. He actually heard the man’s voice from inside, and when he felt the need to tell me, she started on him. Like a wild thing she was.’
The old man was shocked. ‘Aye, well, there’s no accounting for some folks, and if you ask me, you did right in leaving. I’m glad you brought the boy ’ere. I’d have done exactly the same!’
A moment later, having knocked back his tipple, he got out of his chair and gave a long stretch. ‘I’m off to me bed, son, afore I drop off in the chair. See you in the morning, eh?’
Tom gave a little nod. ‘Good night, Dad.’ He watched his father amble across the room. ‘Sleep well, and thanks again. If it hadn’t been for you taking us in, I don’t know what might have happened.’
The old man turned round. ‘It’s what any man would do for them as he loves.’
His kind words struck a deep chord with Tom. On a sudden impulse he went across the room and, taking his father into a deep hug, he told him, ‘All my life you’ve been an example to me. I hope I’ve done the same for my boy.’
Surprised by Tom’s fierce display of affection, the old man held him at arm’s length. ‘I know you’re upset about everything, but you’re not to worry, son. As for being a good father to your own son, nobody could have done better. I promise we’ll be fine, all three of us. One way or another, we’ll sort it out and, like you, I’m determined young Casey will get his chance.’ He smiled sincerely. ‘Even if it means me trying to mend that guitar meself. Trust me, son, that little lad will have his time.’
Patting Tom on the back, he confided, ‘It’s you I’m worried about. You look like you’ve been through the wringer. I noticed straight off, from seeing you last week, you’ve lost weight. Oh, I can understand how this business with Ruth would bring you down … bring any man down, I’m sure!’
He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, I can’t help but feel you’re not telling me everything.’
Resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he asked him outright, ‘Be honest with me, son. Is there summat you’re not saying? Summat else that’s caused you to turn your back on house and home? Though God knows, what with yer wife carrying on like that, and then upsetting that little lad, that’s more than enough to send a man off the rails. All the same, I need you to be honest with me. So, is there summat?’ He looked Tom in the eye. ‘You can trust me, son. Whatever it is, you know I’m here to help.’
Sidestepping his father’s direct question, Tom shook his head. ‘You already know the problem, and now here you are, right in the middle of it, when I should be dealing with it myself. I’m sorry, Dad. I truly never meant for that to happen.’ Casting his gaze to the floor, he finished lamely, ‘Truth is, things have got on top of me, and I can’t help but wonder … how will it all end.’
‘Tom, now you listen to me!’ Struck by Tom’s heartfelt words, Bob told him firmly, ‘I’m all right with being caught up in your troubles. When a family’s in need, we all pull together, isn’t that the way it’s allus been? If I needed a home, I know you would never turn me away. We’re family, and families look after each other. God willing, I’ll be here for you for as long as the Good Lord sees fit to let me live. D’you understand me, son? If you’re in trouble, it’s my trouble as well, and so long as I’ve got a roof over my head, so have you and the boy … even Ruth, if she ever saw fit to mend her ways. So, we’ll ’ave no more o’ this thanking me, and worrying yerself stupid.’
He paused, before speaking firmly: ‘I’ve asked you once, and now I’ll ask again. Is there summat you’re not telling me?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘What I mean is, while I understand about Ruth and her bad ways, I can’t help but feel, in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘that you’re deliberately holding summat back. Are yer?’
Again, Tom skirted the question as honestly as he could. ‘Dad! I’ve told you what happened,’ he said.
‘And that’s everything, is it?’
Tom forced a cynical little laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Mmm.’ The old man was still not altogether satisfied, but as he was dog-tired, anything else could wait until morning. ‘All right, son.’ He patted Tom on the shoulder. ‘I’m off to my bed now, and from the look of you I reckon you need to do the same.’ He was concerned at Tom’s appearance: the dark, hollow patches under his eyes, and that forsaken look that took away his smile. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, son. Don’t stay up too late, and remember, you and the boy are all right here with me. I’m well suited wi’ that.’
‘Good night then, Dad. Thanks.’
Still troubled, Bob went carefully up the narrow, winding staircase. At the top, he turned towards the bedroom where Casey was sleeping soundly.
For a while, he stood by the bed, looking tenderly down on that strong little face. Well, lad, it sounds like you and yer father have had a real bad time of it, he thought. ‘But thank God, you’re safe now, and while I’m ’ere to watch over yer, you’ll come to no harm. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I’m not such an old fool I don’t know when my own son is troubled.’
Looking on the boy again, Bob’s face wreathed in a smile.
Mind you, I’m old and addled, and I could be imagining things. I mean, I’ve been wrong afore, an’ who’s to say I’m not wrong now? Not to worry, eh, lad? The truth is, we all need a good night’s sleep. Things will likely look a whole lot better in the morning.
Leaning down, he gently kissed the boy’s forehead. ‘You’ve no need to fret about the guitar, lad,’ he whispered, ‘because your old gramp will get it fixed. You’ll see, one way or another, you’ll be playing like a good ’un in no time at all.’
He gazed fondly on the boy a moment longer, then he went softly to the door, where he gave a last look back before ambling on to his own bedroom.
Walking carefully to avoid the creaking boards on the landing, he heard the clock strike the eleventh hour, and the downstairs radio playing soft music.
‘Go to bed, son,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Today was a bad ’un, but tomorrow is a new day altogether.’
With that thought in mind he went to his bed hoping that, when tomorrow came, his son might be more able to confide in his old dad.
Downstairs in the back parlour, Tom sat at the small table.
With his eyes closed and the palms of his hands covering his head, he made no attempt to wipe away the tears that ran freely down his face.
Instead, he searched his mind for a way out; a way that would cause the least distress; a way that might allow them to forgive him.
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Josephine Cox
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 17.04.2024
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О книге: The brand new dramatic novel about the power of a father’s love, a little boy’s journey,and the desperate search for a place to call home, from Number 1 best-selling author Josephine Cox.Eight-year-old Casey’s mother Ruth is a cruel woman, with a weakness for other women’s husbands.Casey’s father is gentle and hard-working and, though Tom Denton has long suspected his wife of having sordid affairs, he has chosen to turn a blind eye to keep the peace. But then, out of the blue, Tom’s world is cruelly shattered when he receives two bits of devastating news. Because of this, Tom realises that from now on their lives must change, forever.Tom is made to fight for his son, determined to keep him safe. But, when fate takes a hand, life can be unbearably cruel, and Casey is made to remember his father’s prophetic words…‘It’s done. The dice is thrown, and nobody wins.’But, unbeknown to Casey, there are three letters penned by his father, that may just change his destiny forever.