Three Letters

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

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.