Читать книгу Three Letters - Josephine Cox - Страница 11

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.