Читать книгу Three Letters - Josephine Cox - Страница 12

FOR A MAN in his mid-sixties, Bob Denton was both strong and able, though, as was to be expected, he suffered the aches and pains of increasing age.

A contented man, he considered himself to be fortunate in having married the girl he loved and fathered a wonderful son. He would have liked more children, but Tom was destined to be the only one. The joy he brought was immeasurable and he had been a huge comfort to his father when, some nine years ago, Tom’s mother had died of TB.

That had been a desperately trying time for both Tom and his father, and, sharing the grief as best they could, they drew strength from each other.

Tom had married Ruth about that time, and his marriage and the birth of his son had given him a degree of consolation. Bob, meanwhile, feverishly immersed himself in his work at the quarries, and when young Casey was born, the old man’s heart was happier than it had been for months. Seemingly gifted with a deep love and a joyful ability for music, the boy had given him another reason to keep going. Bob still missed his lovely woman – that would never change – but he tried to move on in life as best he could.

The previous year, Bob had retired from work, so now all he had was his son and his grandson, two people he loved more than life itself. As for Ruth, he had tried many times to befriend her, but she was not an easy woman to get close to. In the end, he had no choice but to give up trying, yet it was a situation he still fretted over.

Like it or not, Ruth carried the name of Denton. She was his daughter-in-law, the wife of his only son, and the mother of his only grandchild, but because she had little time for him, he hardly knew her.

He had always considered that to be a great pity.

Having eaten his dinner and washed the dishes, Bob was now putting them away in the cupboard. Got to keep the place tidy, he thought. As my lovely woman used to say, ‘You never know when you might get visitors.’

Like the rest of this lived-in kind of house, the kitchen was a homely place, not ‘posh’, and certainly not pristine. A well-worn, crinkled mat was at the door, and a row of pretty floral teacups decorated the shelves of the kitchen cabinet. More often than not, there was a used cup on the draining board, next to the tea caddy, and beside that was a barrel of biscuits.

Many things were naturally reused. Every morning Bob would scrunch up yesterday’s newspaper and spread it beneath the wood and coal in the fire grate. Later, when he slumped in his favourite armchair to smoke his pipe and read his paper, he would light the fire, and enjoy the evening warming his toes, and eating his hot stew. If there was any stew left over, he’d always take it down to the butcher, who would be very grateful. ‘I’ll give it to the pigs,’ he would say. ‘Mek the meat taste that much richer, eh?’ Bob told him he didn’t want that information, thank you. It was enough to know that the leftovers were of a use to him.

This little house was Bob’s castle. It had known much love and laughter – a house adorned with mementoes of good times – and when you went inside it was like a pair of strong arms wrapping themselves about you, covering you with warmth and love, which over the years had steeped into the walls for all time.

Arranged on the sitting-room walls were many beautiful sketches of local landscapes, each and every one lovingly created by Bob’s talented wife, Anne.

With much love and a true painter’s eye, she had sketched the green, meandering fields around Pleasington: the town hall on a sunny day; the canal with its colourful barges; even a painting of Addison Street, with its loaf-shaped cobbles and tall iron streetlamps, which lit the way home at night, and provided the supports for children’s swings during the day.

It was said that once you’d enjoyed the unique experience of Addison Street, you would never forget it. If you approached the street from the bottom, you had to lean your body forward at a sharp angle, in order to climb to the top.

But if you approached Addison Street from Preston New Road at the top, you would need to be feet first and leaning backwards, in the opposite direction.

Negotiating the street from top to bottom was either foolhardy, or an act of sheer bravery, the locals claimed. It was so impossibly steep that you could never adopt a leisurely pace, though with legs slightly bent and your whole body leaning backwards for balance, you might start off with that intention. The first few steps might give you the confidence to accelerate slightly, but unless you had a desire to be catapulted into Never Never Land, you would be well advised to take it slowly; though that might be harder than you envisaged.

Inevitably you would find yourself increasing pace, going faster and faster, until you started running; by that point, in an uncontrollable and terrifying manner. With your best hat flown away, and hair standing on end, your last resort would be to pray you might get to the bottom without injury.

Once there, with shattered nerves and a fast-beating heart, you’d be anxious to resume your journey on level ground, promising yourself that never again would you be so careless of life and limb.

Some wary adults learned to negotiate the street by walking sideways with their backs to the wall as they edged along; others were known to hang onto the door handles as they inched their way down. And a few staunch heroes might brave the ordeal with a forced smile on their faces.

Most adults dreaded the ordeal of negotiating Addison Street, but children would happily throw caution to the winds as they ran from top to bottom, whooping and hollering. When it seemed they might take off and launch themselves into the wild blue yonder, they would catch hold of a passing lamppost and swing round and round until they fell in a dizzy heap on the pavement.

Some said it was better than a free funfair, while Granddad Bob claimed it was his beloved Addison Street that kept him ‘fit for owt’.

Having just tidied the kitchen, Bob planned to amble his way to the back parlour, where he would settle down with pipe and paper, and choose a likely winning horse from the racing page.

As he went into the passageway, he was surprised and slightly irritated by a determined knock on the door.

He opened the front door, delighted to see Tom and Casey.

‘Well, I never!’ Opening his arms, he took the boy into his embrace before inviting him to, ‘Get yer coat off an’ help yourself to a ginger biscuit from the barrel in the kitchen cabinet. Oh, and by the way, your comics are still in the drawer, if you’re wondering.’

Curious, he glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was almost 8 p.m. At this time of evening, the boy should be at home, getting ready for his bed. And when Tom hung his coat up, the old fella noticed that he was still in his working clothes. That was odd, he thought worriedly. ‘Come through, lad. Looks to me like we need to talk, eh?’

Leaving the boy to his biscuits and comic, Bob led his son to the back parlour, where Tom stood with his back to the fireplace, while his father sat himself in the big old armchair.

‘What’s wrong, lad?’ Though a working man, married with a child, Tom was always referred to by his father as ‘lad’. In an odd way, it gave him a sense of comfort, but not tonight, because tonight, there was nothing on earth that might comfort him.

‘I’ve left her.’ Tom spoke softly so the boy might not hear. He was not proud of his decision, however justified it might be. Nor was he proud of the awful burden he was about to heap on this dear man. ‘We’re not going back, Dad. Not ever!’

When his father made no response, Tom saw the worry in his face. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I know it was a drastic step to take, but this time, she’s gone too far.’ In his mind’s eye he could see Ruth wildly attacking Casey, and the boy flinching from her, his arms held high in a feeble effort to protect himself.

‘I see.’ Bob gave a small, understanding smile. ‘You had another bad set-to with Ruth, am I right?’

‘Yes.’ He had no intentions of revealing the shocking thing Ruth had confessed to him about the stranger in the alley being Casey’s true father.

‘Hmm. Well now, with you and Ruth at loggerheads, and all things taken into account, I can mebbe understand you not wanting to go back, but have you considered what Casey wants? Oh, I know he’s not yet of an age when he can reason for himself, but he has a quick mind and a voice with which to express his own views. I trust you’ve taken his feelings into account when you say you’re “never” going back? And besides, who’s to say this upset with Ruth won’t blow over, like they’ve done many times before?’

‘Not this time, Dad.’

‘So, why not this time? What’s gone on between the two of you that’s so unforgivable it can’t be put right?’

Tom felt the anger rise in him. ‘It can’t ever be put right, Dad, because, like I say, this time she’s gone too far altogether!’

‘But in what way?’

‘It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is, she’s shown her true colours. Take my word, Dad, me and Casey are well out of it. I want nothing more to do with her. It was Casey himself who asked me to bring him here, so he could live here with you. He told me he never wants to go back there.’

For a long, tense moment, the air was thick with Tom’s outburst. Then, almost in a whisper, Bob revealed what was on his mind. ‘This upset between you and Ruth … a man, was it?’

For some time now, he had overheard snippets of worrying gossip. He kept them to himself, because like many a parent, he believed any problems should be taken care of inside the relationship, though it seemed in this particular case that might be too much to ask. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, lad? That wandering wife o’ yourn has been cheating on you again.’

Tom was shocked. ‘What makes you ask that?’ He had no idea that his father was aware of Ruth’s seedy other life.

‘Oh, lad! I might be long in the tooth, but I’m not a fool.’ When under pressure, Bob had a habit of biting his bottom lip, which he did now. ‘The thing is, I’ve heard mutterings now and then. I had hoped it was just idle gossip amongst folks who’d got nothing better to do. I’m sorry, Tom. I should have known there’s no smoke without fire. So, is it true then … what they say?’

Tom merely nodded, his sense of shame increasing tenfold.

Getting out of his chair, Bob went to the door and softly closed it. Then he laid his broad, comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘You and the boy can stay ’ere as long as you need to. I’ll not ask any questions, and I’ll not intrude in your marriage … unless o’ course you need me to. Whichever way you want to handle it, lad, I’m here for you.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ Tom was deeply moved by his father’s support. ‘I promise you, Dad, I haven’t taken this step lightly. For a long time now, I’ve tried to keep the marriage together, mainly for Casey’s sake – you’ve no idea how I’ve tried – but she doesn’t love us … not me, and certainly not the boy.’

In that moment, he believed he was the one who had failed, and that things could only get worse. It broke his heart to realise that, out of all this chaos, the person who would be hurt most was young Casey.

As Tom hung his head and choked back the tears, his father held him close. ‘It’ll be all right, son,’ he said. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, me and you … and our precious boy.’

Tom gave no answer. Instead he kept his head buried in his father’s shoulders until his sobs began to subside.

The old man also had tears in his eyes. ‘Hey, come on now, lad. Don’t let the boy see you like this. Best get to your bed, eh? Right now, your mind is all over the place. In the morning, we’ll all be thinking clearly, then we’ll talk it through, and deal with it.’

Holding Tom at arm’s length, he was relieved when Tom smiled back at him. ‘That’s better, son. So, is my plan a good ’un, d’you think?’

‘Yeah, Dad. As good as any I’ve heard.’

When his father seemed relieved, Tom regretted not being able to tell him about the other matter that haunted him. For some time now, Tom had been on the brink of confiding in that dear man, but he could not bring himself to burden him with such crippling news, even though he knew his father would move Heaven and Earth to bring him a measure of peace.

So now, as he thanked his father for accommodating him and Casey, Tom managed a smile; though it was a shallow effort.

Tom was well versed in putting on a brave face, so the old man had no idea that his son was carrying a much heavier burden than he was yet ready to reveal.

Sometimes in life, bad things happened and there was no real explanation as to why. All Tom knew was that these past weeks had been almost unbearable. There was no way for him to ease his mind, and no way he could share the load. So, he carried the burden alone; praying that somehow, his instincts might lead him to do the right thing, for everyone; especially his son.

Somewhere deep inside himself, Tom wanted to believe that Ruth did love the boy, and yet her every word, look and action showed only hatred. Casey felt her rejection of him, and in turn he began to lose both respect and love for his mother. It was a difficult situation, which over the years, had widened the rift between Tom and his wife, and made him love his son even more.

His thoughts now turned to his father. The truth was that however the darling old man might want to ‘work out’ his son’s problems, there was no way that could ever happen. What was done was already done, and there could be no turning back.

In her seemingly cruel way, Fate had intervened.

The dice were thrown and there were no winners.

‘I reckon you’d best get the boy to bed, afore he falls asleep on the kitchen floor.’ Tom was jolted out of his thoughts by his father’s timely reminder.

‘I’ll do that right now,’ Tom answered. ‘Mind you, I don’t suppose he’d care much if we left him there till morning.’

‘Well, we’re not having that. So, go on, you put your son to bed, and meantime I’ll get us a drop o’ summat good to warm the cockles.’ Reaching out, he patted Tom on the arm. ‘How does that sound, eh?’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Tom looked into those kindly blue eyes and for one precious moment he felt incredibly safe; even strong enough to take on the world all by himself. ‘I can never thank you enough, Dad, for taking us in like this.’

‘Oh, give over. You and me, we look after each other. Always have, always will.’ He gave Tom a friendly push. ‘Now then, be off and get the lad to his bed.’

As Tom hurried towards the kitchen, Bob called after him, ‘You needn’t worry if you didn’t have time to pack a bag for the lad. Casey allus keeps a spare pair o’ jamas here. And I’ve enough shirts upstairs to open a shop. Find one that doesn’t altogether drown him, and he’ll come to no harm. Now then! Don’t forget to fetch him in ’ere, so’s he can say good night to his old granddad.’

Tom found Casey on the kitchen floor, with the comic spread out in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. Instead, he was lying flat, with his arms stretched out, and his head resting on his arms. ‘It’s time for bed, son.’ Tom stooped down beside him. ‘Granddad Bob needs you to say good night.’

Big, soulful eyes looked up at Tom. ‘Did Granddad Bob say we can stay here then?’ His voice was suspiciously shaky, and from the smudges round his eyes, Tom suspected he’d been crying.

‘We can stay here as long as we want, that’s what he said.’

‘Can’t I stay up a bit longer?’

‘No, son. You’ve had a rough time of it. You need to get your sleep. You look shattered, and besides, me and Granddad Bob need to talk … grown-up stuff, if you know what I mean?’

‘About that man?’

‘About all sorts of things.’ Tom wisely skirted the reference to ‘that man’.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes.’ Taking the boy by his arms, Tom drew him up. ‘What is it, son?’

‘I don’t think I can go to sleep.’

‘Oh, and why’s that?’ Tom needed to satisfy himself that, tonight of all nights, his son should sleep well and be safe from harm.

One thing was certain: there would be no sleep for Tom himself. Not with his mind in such turmoil. He needed space and quiet in order to think things through. He had to be sure he was doing the right thing for everyone, and not just for himself. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, he had made an agonising decision, which was bound to cause further pain and regrets for those he loved.

To his surprise, he found himself counting Ruth in that group. He knew she could be unbelievably cruel, and he deeply regretted the shame she had brought to their marriage. Moreover, he had seen at first hand her uncontrollable dislike for the boy. And yet, for some reason, Tom was surprised to find that he still had feelings for her.

Angry and confused, he thrust away his thoughts and concentrated on Casey. ‘Right then, son, let’s have you. First, you can say good night to your granddad, then it’s off up them stairs.’

‘OK.’ Without further ado, the boy replaced the biscuit barrel to the shelf, then he folded his comic and tucked it under his arm, before giving a long, lazy yawn. ‘Did Granddad really say we can stay here?’

‘If we want to, yes.’

‘Well, I want to, ’cause I never want to go back home.’

‘All right, son, but for now, I need you to put it all out of your mind and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, isn’t that so?’ He thought it surprising that, even after all the turmoil and troubles, the boy still referred to that unhappy dwelling on Henry Street as ‘home’.

Granddad Bob held Casey a moment longer than he might normally have done. ‘You’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ he said, ‘but it’s all behind you now, so put it out of your mind, lad. And while you’re here, you and your dad must treat this place as your own home. D’you understand?’

‘Thank you.’ The boy hugged him. ‘I love you, Granddad Bob.’

‘Mek sure you do, or you’ll get no more ginger biscuits.’ He gave a little wink. ‘Right?’

‘Right!’

Giggling, Casey ran across to his father. ‘Granddad Bob is really funny.’

Tom laughed. ‘Until you leave the bathroom in a mess, then you’ll find out differently.’

‘I don’t leave the bathroom in a mess.’

‘Ah, well, that’s a good job then, isn’t it?’

As the two of them went up the stairs, chatting and laughing, the old man remained deep in thought.

The boy’s overheard remark about ‘that man’ had only confirmed his suspicions about Ruth’s continuing affairs.

Yet Bob wondered whether that was just one reason for Tom’s distress. He couldn’t help but feel that Tom was keeping something back. Something he was not yet ready to share. What else besides his marriage had gone wrong?

The idea of Tom carrying some deep problem he felt unable to share was deeply worrying to the old man; so much so that he began pacing back and forth across the parlour.

Upstairs, Tom lingered by the bathroom door while young Casey squirted a measure of toothpaste onto his finger before rubbing it into his teeth. ‘If we’re staying here now, I’ll need a new toothbrush. I don’t want to go back and get my old one. Is that all right, Dad?’

‘Fine by me, so long as you stop talking and get on with the business of cleaning your teeth.’

A few minutes later, Casey was done. He then wiped the basin over with a flannel. ‘That’s all clean now, eh, Dad?’ Combing his tousled hair, he smiled at Tom.

‘Why yes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a clean basin. I reckon Granddad Bob will be very pleased with that. You know how fussy he is about his bathroom.’

As they made their way to the small bedroom, Casey wanted to know, ‘Why is Granddad Bob so fussy about his bathroom?’

Tom gave it some thought. ‘I reckon it’s because, for a long time, we never had a proper bathroom. My mother – the grandma you never knew – well, she always dreamed of having a proper bathroom, instead of bringing in the tin bath that hung on the wall outside. So anyway, when they finally got the boxroom turned into a bathroom, Mam was so happy that she was very particular about having it left clean and tidy.’

‘Why was she so puticlar?’

‘I think you mean “particular”.’

‘Hmm! Well, why was she so … you know … that?’

‘I’ll answer your question when you say the word properly.’ Tom sounded it out: ‘Par-tic-u-lar.’

‘All right then. So, why was she so par-tic-u-lar?’

Laughing, Tom clapped his hands. ‘Well done! Mum was so proud of the bathroom that she wanted visitors to see it in all its shining glory, polished up and clean as a whistle. Your granddad remembers that, and it’s why he, too, wants the bathroom always to be left clean, just the way Grandma would have liked it.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Casey was happy with the explanation.

Tom turned back the bedclothes and Casey climbed in.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, son?’

‘I love it here, with Granddad Bob.’

‘Good.’

‘Can we stay for ever?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Would you like to stay here for ever, Dad?’

‘I think so.’ If things were different, he wondered if his answer might have been more definite.

‘And d’you think Granddad Bob would be willing to put up with us, if we stayed for ever, I mean?’

‘Yes, ’cause we’d be sure and look after him, wouldn’t we?’

‘That’s right! You could take him to the pub sometimes, and in the summer we could go on picnics; he’d like that. And I could run errands and fetch in the coal. We could go to Blackpool on Sundays and ride on the hobby-horses and after that, we could make sandcastles on the beach. Oh, and then—’

‘Whoa!’ Tom laughed out loud. ‘That all sounds too exhausting and wonderful, and I’m sure Granddad Bob would love it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to get all wound up just now, when I need you to go to sleep.’ He added cautiously, ‘No doubt there’ll be time for all that later on.’

The memories of his own wonderful childhood flooded Tom’s mind and lifted his heart. Lately, though, he had discovered that sometimes life was really cruel.

When the boy yawned again, Tom tucked the bedclothes over him. ‘I’m so proud of you, son.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers twining through the boy’s thick hair. ‘No man ever had a more wonderful son.’

‘Dad?’

‘Go to sleep, Casey.’

‘But I want to ask you a question.’

‘Aw, go on then. But that’s the last one.’

‘Are you proud of me when I play the guitar and sing?’

‘Of course. How could I not be proud of you, eh? You have a gift, and you must always use it. But I’m not only proud of you for that. I’m proud of you because you’re a good boy. It makes me feel special to have a son as fine as you.’

For a moment he paused, looking Casey in the eye. ‘I want you to tell me the truth, Casey. Are you sorry we left home … and your mam?’

‘No, Dad, I’m not sorry. I can’t be happy at home, because Mam won’t let me be. She gets angry and she makes me cry, even when I haven’t done anything wrong.’

Tom received the boy’s answer with mixed feelings. ‘Do you think you might be able to forgive her … some day in the future?’

Lowering his gaze, Casey considered Tom’s question before answering quietly, ‘I don’t know. Sometimes, I don’t like Mam very much, and sometimes … well, I think I might love her. Only she doesn’t want me to love her, and she won’t love me back.’

‘I understand what you’re saying,’ Tom reassured him. In his heart he was content to think that Ruth might never again get her claws into this boy. Then again, Casey was her son, and he needed a mother. And yet, if Ruth really had no warm feelings for him, he might be better off without her altogether.

‘It’s difficult to love someone, isn’t it?’ Tom said now. ‘Like you, I’m not really sure if she wants us or not. But there’s always the chance that she’ll change her mind. And if that happens, it would of course be for you to decide whether or not you want to forgive her.’

‘I’ll never forgive her!’ Casey had not forgotten. ‘She called me a liar, and I know what I heard. Anyway, she doesn’t want me. She said so.’

Before Tom could reply, the boy asked quietly, ‘She meant it, didn’t she, Dad?’

Tom shrugged. ‘Yes, I think she did … at the time, but when we’re angry, we all say all kinds of things we don’t mean.’

‘Well, if she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her. I’ve made up my mind, and I won’t go back.’

‘All right, son. That’s enough now. We’re here at Granddad’s, and he said you can stay as long as you want. So, let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘All right.’

‘I love you, Casey, and all I want is for you to be happy.’

‘But I can’t be happy just now, ’cause I’m a little bit sad that I can’t play the guitar any more.’

‘Then we’ll just have to get it mended, won’t we?’

‘How can we do that?’ He looked up at Tom with wide eyes, the tearful words tumbling one over the other. ‘It’s all busted, and the strings have jumped out, and … it’s no good any more.’

Tom gathered him into his arms. ‘Trust me, son,’ he murmured, ‘it can be mended.’

‘But, it’s all in bits.’ Casey’s tears spilled over. ‘It can’t ever be mended. Never, never!’

‘Hey!’ Tom wagged a finger. ‘Have I ever promised to do something that can’t be done?’

The child shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Right! So trust me now. Tears and tantrums won’t mend anything. But there must be a man out there who can mend whatever needs mending; even a guitar with “jumped-out” strings, and bits of wood missing.’

‘Where is he, then?’

‘Well, I can’t be really sure, not yet, but there must be someone out there. I mean, there are clockmakers to mend clocks; tailors to repair clothes, and mechanics to mend broken engines. So I reckon that means there must be someone who mends guitars. Isn’t that so?’

Tom was rewarded with a bright, happy smile. ‘Yeah! And we’ll find him, won’t we, Dad?’

Relieved that the boy’s spirits were up again, Tom gave an encouraging nod. ‘Now close your eyes and go to sleep.’

‘Dad?’

‘What now?’

‘Will you tell me that story, about when you were a little boy, and Granddad used to take you to Mill Hill bridge, where you watched the trains running underneath, and all the steam blew up into your faces?’ He grinned at the thought. ‘You said you felt invisible.’

‘That’s right, son. Oh, but they were wonderful times. I was a very lucky boy to have those adventures.’ Just now, when Casey mentioned the railway bridge at Mill Hill, Tom’s heart had almost stopped, because that particular place from his childhood had played heavily on his mind lately.

Now, though, because of the boy’s curiosity, he was made to revisit Mill Hill bridge in his mind once more. The thought of his father and himself walking under that picturesque viaduct and onwards, up the bank and along the curve of the bridge itself, was one of Tom’s most precious memories.

When other, darker thoughts clouded his troubled mind, he smiled at the irony. ‘Are you sure you want that particular story, son?’

‘Yes, please.’

With mixed emotions, Tom told the story about the days when he and Granddad Bob had regularly stood on the bridge for hours, watching the trains as they made their noisy way beneath, sending clouds of steam upwards and outwards. There was always much laughter when the steam enveloped the two of them, before quickly evaporating in the air.

While Casey laughed aloud, Tom blinked away stinging tears. ‘Soon the next train would come along,’ he went on, ‘and sometimes we’d lean over the bridge wall, with your granddad Bob hanging onto my pants to stop me from falling headfirst onto the railway lines below. The steam was everywhere. When we finally came away, my hair would feel really damp to the touch. Then Granddad Bob would always threaten to turn me upside down when we got home.’

‘Why would he turn you upside down?’

‘So’s he could wash the kitchen floor with my damp hair … or at least that’s what he said.’

Casey laughed out loud. ‘He wouldn’t really do that, would he?’

‘No, it was just his idea of a joke.’

Having been persuaded to tell the tale for the umpteenth time, Tom’s heart was heavy.

Nevertheless, he told it as promised, right to the end; by which time Casey was fast asleep.

Tom stayed with him for a while. He held his hand, and watched him sleeping. His tearful eyes roved over that small, familiar face, and for a precious time he lay beside him, oddly content just to watch him sleep.

In those precious moments of quiet, he could almost hear the boy’s heartbeat, as regular as a clock counting away the minutes.

Tom closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. ‘Dear Lord above, please help me to be strong, and forgive me if you can. And it would give me some peace if you could find your way to making Casey’s wishes come true. Could you show him the way to become a fine musician? It isn’t much to ask, is it, not when he’s already losing so much in his turbulent young life?’ He felt guilty and so very sad.

When, a few moments later, Tom found himself falling asleep, he clambered off the bed and, after making sure Casey was resting easy, made his way downstairs.

His father was sitting in the armchair beside a warm, crackling fire.

‘Oh, ’ere you are, Tom. I were beginning to think you’d gone to bed, an’ all,’ he remarked cheerily. ‘Mind you, I nearly nodded off meself a minute or two back. I’ll not be long afore I make my own way up them stairs, I can tell you.’

‘It was a while before Casey closed his eyes,’ Tom explained. ‘He had so many questions. His main worry was how to get the guitar mended, after Ruth smashed it to pieces.’

The old man tutted angrily. ‘Smashed it to pieces, eh? Shame on the woman! That was a terrible, wicked thing to do, even for her!’

Tom, too, had been astonished at the violent way in which she’d smashed the guitar into the wall; almost as though she was taking her rage out on a living thing … a person, maybe.

Bob went on thoughtfully, ‘Don’t say anything to the lad just yet in case it comes to nothing, but I recall somebody talking in the pub last week. They’re thinking of having a piano player of a Sat’day night, and it seems there’s a fella round these parts who knows a great deal about musical instruments and such. Mebbe he can rebuild that guitar?’

The idea gave Tom a deal of contentment before the feeling of sadness took hold again. He closed his eyes and thought of Ruth, and he regretted with all his heart the pain she had caused that young boy.

His own pain was of no importance compared to other issues, but he felt really hurt for Casey, who had his whole life ahead of him, with all its unexpected twists and turns.

The old man had seen the change in his son’s manner. ‘You look like somebody lost,’ he said. ‘Sit yersel’ down, lad. I’ve poured you a drop o’ gin. It’ll help wash your troubles away.’ He gestured to the tumbler on the small table. ‘Get it down you, lad. It’ll do you a world o’ good.’

Making a smile, Tom took the glass and settled in the opposite armchair beside the fire. Being closer now, he observed the rosy glow in his dad’s weathered old face, but it was the twinkle in his eye that gave him away. ‘Looks to me like you’ve started without me,’ Tom laughed. ‘Not that I blame you, because we both need a tipple after what’s happened.’

The old man nodded. ‘There’s nowt wrong wi’ a drop o’ the good stuff now and then, so long as you don’t let it become a habit. Everything in moderation – isn’t that what they say? A little drop occasionally, that’s the trick. Enough for you to celebrate when you’re on the up, and lift your spirits when you’re down.’

Tom agreed. ‘So, where are we now, up or down?’

‘Well, with you having to leave your wife, I’d say we were down a while ago, but now that you and my grandson are ’ere with me, safe and well, I reckon we must be on the up. So, to my mind, that calls for another little tipple.’ He held out his empty glass. ‘Not too much, mind. We’ve things to talk through, and I need a clear ’ead on me shoulders.’

So, they had a second little tipple, and talked into the late hours. Tom explained how Ruth had been sleeping with one of his workmates, and that she’d entertained him in their own house, in their own bed, and worse, ‘Young Casey was right there, outside the bedroom. He actually heard the man’s voice from inside, and when he felt the need to tell me, she started on him. Like a wild thing she was.’

The old man was shocked. ‘Aye, well, there’s no accounting for some folks, and if you ask me, you did right in leaving. I’m glad you brought the boy ’ere. I’d have done exactly the same!’

A moment later, having knocked back his tipple, he got out of his chair and gave a long stretch. ‘I’m off to me bed, son, afore I drop off in the chair. See you in the morning, eh?’

Tom gave a little nod. ‘Good night, Dad.’ He watched his father amble across the room. ‘Sleep well, and thanks again. If it hadn’t been for you taking us in, I don’t know what might have happened.’

The old man turned round. ‘It’s what any man would do for them as he loves.’

His kind words struck a deep chord with Tom. On a sudden impulse he went across the room and, taking his father into a deep hug, he told him, ‘All my life you’ve been an example to me. I hope I’ve done the same for my boy.’

Surprised by Tom’s fierce display of affection, the old man held him at arm’s length. ‘I know you’re upset about everything, but you’re not to worry, son. As for being a good father to your own son, nobody could have done better. I promise we’ll be fine, all three of us. One way or another, we’ll sort it out and, like you, I’m determined young Casey will get his chance.’ He smiled sincerely. ‘Even if it means me trying to mend that guitar meself. Trust me, son, that little lad will have his time.’

Patting Tom on the back, he confided, ‘It’s you I’m worried about. You look like you’ve been through the wringer. I noticed straight off, from seeing you last week, you’ve lost weight. Oh, I can understand how this business with Ruth would bring you down … bring any man down, I’m sure!’

He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, I can’t help but feel you’re not telling me everything.’

Resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he asked him outright, ‘Be honest with me, son. Is there summat you’re not saying? Summat else that’s caused you to turn your back on house and home? Though God knows, what with yer wife carrying on like that, and then upsetting that little lad, that’s more than enough to send a man off the rails. All the same, I need you to be honest with me. So, is there summat?’ He looked Tom in the eye. ‘You can trust me, son. Whatever it is, you know I’m here to help.’

Sidestepping his father’s direct question, Tom shook his head. ‘You already know the problem, and now here you are, right in the middle of it, when I should be dealing with it myself. I’m sorry, Dad. I truly never meant for that to happen.’ Casting his gaze to the floor, he finished lamely, ‘Truth is, things have got on top of me, and I can’t help but wonder … how will it all end.’

‘Tom, now you listen to me!’ Struck by Tom’s heartfelt words, Bob told him firmly, ‘I’m all right with being caught up in your troubles. When a family’s in need, we all pull together, isn’t that the way it’s allus been? If I needed a home, I know you would never turn me away. We’re family, and families look after each other. God willing, I’ll be here for you for as long as the Good Lord sees fit to let me live. D’you understand me, son? If you’re in trouble, it’s my trouble as well, and so long as I’ve got a roof over my head, so have you and the boy … even Ruth, if she ever saw fit to mend her ways. So, we’ll ’ave no more o’ this thanking me, and worrying yerself stupid.’

He paused, before speaking firmly: ‘I’ve asked you once, and now I’ll ask again. Is there summat you’re not telling me?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What I mean is, while I understand about Ruth and her bad ways, I can’t help but feel, in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘that you’re deliberately holding summat back. Are yer?’

Again, Tom skirted the question as honestly as he could. ‘Dad! I’ve told you what happened,’ he said.

‘And that’s everything, is it?’

Tom forced a cynical little laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Mmm.’ The old man was still not altogether satisfied, but as he was dog-tired, anything else could wait until morning. ‘All right, son.’ He patted Tom on the shoulder. ‘I’m off to my bed now, and from the look of you I reckon you need to do the same.’ He was concerned at Tom’s appearance: the dark, hollow patches under his eyes, and that forsaken look that took away his smile. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, son. Don’t stay up too late, and remember, you and the boy are all right here with me. I’m well suited wi’ that.’

‘Good night then, Dad. Thanks.’

Still troubled, Bob went carefully up the narrow, winding staircase. At the top, he turned towards the bedroom where Casey was sleeping soundly.

For a while, he stood by the bed, looking tenderly down on that strong little face. Well, lad, it sounds like you and yer father have had a real bad time of it, he thought. ‘But thank God, you’re safe now, and while I’m ’ere to watch over yer, you’ll come to no harm. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I’m not such an old fool I don’t know when my own son is troubled.’

Looking on the boy again, Bob’s face wreathed in a smile.

Mind you, I’m old and addled, and I could be imagining things. I mean, I’ve been wrong afore, an’ who’s to say I’m not wrong now? Not to worry, eh, lad? The truth is, we all need a good night’s sleep. Things will likely look a whole lot better in the morning.

Leaning down, he gently kissed the boy’s forehead. ‘You’ve no need to fret about the guitar, lad,’ he whispered, ‘because your old gramp will get it fixed. You’ll see, one way or another, you’ll be playing like a good ’un in no time at all.’

He gazed fondly on the boy a moment longer, then he went softly to the door, where he gave a last look back before ambling on to his own bedroom.

Walking carefully to avoid the creaking boards on the landing, he heard the clock strike the eleventh hour, and the downstairs radio playing soft music.

‘Go to bed, son,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Today was a bad ’un, but tomorrow is a new day altogether.’

With that thought in mind he went to his bed hoping that, when tomorrow came, his son might be more able to confide in his old dad.

Downstairs in the back parlour, Tom sat at the small table.

With his eyes closed and the palms of his hands covering his head, he made no attempt to wipe away the tears that ran freely down his face.

Instead, he searched his mind for a way out; a way that would cause the least distress; a way that might allow them to forgive him.