Three Letters

‘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.’