Читать книгу Three Letters - Josephine Cox - Страница 10

‘RIGHT, LADS, TIME to finish up.’ The foreman’s voice echoed through the factory. ‘We’ve all got better things to do than hang round ’ere, so come on, chop chop.’

Grateful to be at the end of another week, the men heard Bill Townsend’s instructions and the machines were quickly switched off.

Tormented by his thoughts, Tom Denton had not heard the instructions and he continued to grade the metal parts, as they travelled along the conveyor belt.

‘Wake up, lad!’ the foreman shouted. ‘It’s time to go … unless yer want to spend the weekend ’ere?’

Tom acknowledged the order with a nod of the head. He switched off the machine, quickly stacked the graded tools into a packing case, then collected his bag.

Hurrying down the gangway, he fell in with the other men; their voices creating an eerie echo as they chattered amongst themselves. Marching towards the door, their heavy boots made a comforting rhythmic sound against the concrete floor.

‘I can’t wait to get home,’ said one, ‘I’ve a meaty hot-pot waiting for me.’

One of the men chuckled. ‘A meaty hot-pot, eh? What’s that, your wife or your dinner?’ His cheeky comment created a roar of laughter amongst his workmates.

Waiting with the men’s wage packets, Bill Townsend focused his attention on Tom; a quiet young man in his early thirties. From starting work as an apprentice at the age of fourteen, he had proved himself to be a hard worker, thoroughly reliable and greatly respected by his colleagues. He was also popular, with his kindly nature, and easy smile, even though for the sake of his son, he was made to tolerate a shameful situation at home. A situation which, unbeknown to Tom, was common gossip in the local community.

He had two great loves in his life. One was his music. The other was young Casey, the son he doted on.

He was more than willing to pass the time of day during the short break, especially with his mate, Len, who was the mechanic that kept the machines in top working order, though today, Len was off work having three of his teeth out.

Bill wondered about Tom, having noticed how quiet he had been of late. His smile was not so quick, and his shoulders were hunched, as though carrying the weight of the world.

Having heard the latest gossip in the neighbourhood, Bill had a good idea what was playing on Tom’s mind, but it was not for him to interfere and, more importantly, Tom would not thank him for it. As far as he was concerned, any friction between a man and his wife was for them to deal with. Others could mind their own business.

Just then, sensing that he was being watched, Tom looked up to see Bill staring at him. Feeling uncomfortable at having been caught out, Bill gave him a quick smile, and hurriedly returned to his paperwork. ‘No doubt that woman has been giving him grief again!’ Like everyone else, Bill was aware of the gossip.

Tom guessed what was going through Bill’s mind, as it must be going through the mind of every man jack on that factory floor. He had long suspected they were aware of his unhappy marital situation. In fact, he was sure the whole of Blackburn must know about his wife’s sordid affairs by now.

Whenever he tackled her about seeing other men, she always denied it, but occasionally the evidence betrayed her. A trusted neighbour might tell him; or he might catch a glimpse of her in the street on the arm of some stranger, and once he came home to find a man’s wallet lying on the floor of their bedroom.

Like a good and practised liar, she always had answers. After a while, for the sake of peace, Tom pretended to believe her lies, but he had so much bitterness and regret in him, so much pain. There was a time when he had adored her, but his love for Ruth had diminished in the face of her betrayals. For the sake of appearances, and the wellbeing of their son, he had stayed in the belief that it was better for young Casey to be part of a slightly damaged family than not be part of a family at all.

He made himself believe that he must be partly to blame, that somehow he had failed not only Ruth, but himself. In the end, seeing no way out of his impossible dilemma, and unable to right the situation, he left her to her own devices and devoted his life and energy to Casey.

If it hadn’t been for his son, Tom would have left his cheating wife long ago, but Casey was the light of his life and at times, his only joy.

Now, though, ironically, his careful reasoning was undermined, because Fate had intervened, driving him in a different and unexpected direction.

As he queued for his wages with the other men, Tom silently dwelt on his life and the way things had turned out. Ruth had been the wrong woman for him, and because of her, he had never taken the chances when they came along. And there had been one or two, the most memorable being a certain occasion when his musical talent might have carried him into the big time. Now that was a dream long gone. His chances of becoming a serious musician were lost for ever. He would never know the joy of playing to audiences far and wide because, like a fool, he had listened to Ruth, and now it was all too late.

Pushing the bad thoughts from his mind, Tom thought of Casey, and a gentle, loving smile washed over his face. That cheeky, darling boy had appeared to inherit his daddy’s passion for music, and a quenchless curiosity for knowledge. He wanted to know everything: about music, about life and the way of things in the world.

From the minute he could speak, Casey questioned everything, wanting to know where the sun came from in the morning and where it went at night. He spent hours watching the birds in the back yard, and when they sang he mimicked them and sang back.

In his odd little way, Casey had danced before he could walk, and whenever Tom brought out his guitar to play, Casey would sit on his knee to watch and listen, his face wreathed in amazement while the music filled his soul. Then his mammy would complain about the noise and the music was stopped.

Thinking about that now, Tom realised there were things he was powerless to change, and he was filled with a great sense of sorrow. Now, although it was too late for Tom himself, it was not too late for Casey.

‘You all right, Tom?’ Ernie Sutton, a workmate, sidled up to him. ‘What’s up with yer?’

Tom was instantly on his guard. ‘Nothing. Why?’

Ernie gave a shrug. ‘I were just wondering. I mean … you’ve been quieter than usual, that’s all.’ Like the others, he had noticed how Tom had barely spoken a word today. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ he ventured gently. ‘I’m older than you, son, and I’ve seen a bit of life. I might be able to advise you … if you’ve a problem, that is?’

‘I’m not saying I don’t have problems,’ Tom admitted wryly, ‘… because I do … like any other man, I expect. The thing is, Ernie, we all have to deal with them in our own way. Isn’t that right?’

‘Aye. That’s right enough, I dare say.’ Ernie thought it best to leave him be. ‘Sorry if I overstepped the mark, son. I just wanted to let you know … I’m here if you need a friend.’

‘You’re always a good friend, Ernie, but I’m all right. Really.’

Stepping aside, Ernie felt unsettled. Over the years he had come to know Tom well, and he sensed that there was something playing on the younger fella’s mind. Something more than usual, even more than money. None of the men was well off, but Tom was a grafter who provided well for the boy. He even sustained a shameless hussy who flaunted herself at any man who would give her the time of day.

Thinking of Ruth Denton made Ernie grateful for his own wife of twenty years, a fine woman, content with her man. It would never enter her head to go throwing herself about like some cheap tart.

Tom was anxious to collect his wages and get home now. He needed to talk with Ruth, and this time she must listen to what he had to say. Twice before he tried to discuss his concerns, but she was never interested. The last time he had broached the subject, she had just walked away. Tonight, though, because of the latest development, he was determined to say his piece.

He had borne the burden of his secret for too long. Time was running out and the truth must be faced.

‘What about you, Tom?’

Tom was startled. ‘Sorry, Bill, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?’

‘I were just saying, it’s Friday, and I, for one, am off to the pub for a quick pint.’ Bill Townsend was a mountain of a man, with an unhealthy liking for the booze. He was a good foreman and a straight-talking, likeable fellow, but when he got the booze inside him, he could be argumentative, itching to flatten anyone who got in his way. ‘Come on, lads! Half an hour at the most,’ he persisted. ‘You’ll not get the chance of a crafty pint, once the wife gets her hands on your wage packet!’

Dishing out the little brown envelopes containing their week’s wages, he continued to coax them. ‘Look, you can’t send me in there on my own. There’s no fun in that, is there, eh?’

‘It’s all right for you, Bill.’ John Howard was older, sincere and loyal to his workmates, while good-naturedly grumbling about his wife of many years. ‘You don’t have a wife who would throw a sulk all weekend just because you had a drink with your mates. You don’t know what she’s like.’

‘That’s very true.’ With no woman of his own and no responsibilities, big Bill had a twinkle in his eye, and a bigger twinkle in his pants. With his wages tucked safely away, he was looking forward to an hour or so in the pub, where he hoped to enjoy an eyeful of the barmaid’s large and attractive assets and, if he was lucky enough, maybe even a romp in the back room afterwards, and not for the first time either.

‘At least you’ve a woman of your own!’ he told John. ‘There are times when I’d kill for a feisty, jealous woman waiting for me at home. It’s a lonely old life on your own.’ He shifted his sorry gaze from one man to another. ‘Come on, lads, just half an hour of your company, that’s all I’m asking.’

John was adamant. ‘Not me, Bill. Sorry, but I’m off home to put my feet up, and hopefully pick out a winner or two from the racing page.’

Bill shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ He turned back to Tom, still hoping there might be a possibility that he could help with whatever was troubling him. ‘Won’t you change your mind, Tom? Join me for a pint or two and a chat, eh?’

Tom was adamant. ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t … not tonight.’

‘Why’s that then?’ Bill gently quizzed him. ‘What’s so desperate you can’t come out with me and the lads for half an hour?’

Tom took a moment to consider his answer. The last thing he needed was a grilling. ‘It’s not that I’m “desperate” to get home,’ he said. ‘It’s … my boy, Casey.’ He hated lying. ‘I promised I’d take him to the pictures tonight.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The older man was not fooled, but he went along with Tom’s explanation. ‘Well, that’s reason enough for me, lad! You must keep your promise to the boy.’

Seeing the questioning look in the older man’s eyes, Tom knew his lie was found out, and he felt ashamed. ‘Another time maybe?’

‘Yeah. Another time.’ Bill Townsend felt a rush of sympathy. He suspected that Tom’s cheating wife had been at her old game again. She made no secret of her liking for other men. And, as if that wasn’t enough humiliation for Tom, she had a habit of belittling him in public when, rather than argue in the street, Tom would simply walk away.

‘Right then!’ Bill quickly shifted his attention to the other men. ‘So, there’s none of you up for it, eh? Fair enough, I’ll go on my own, and sit in the corner like some poor lost soul.’

‘Oh, go on then, you’ve talked me into it.’ Will Drayton was a bit of a Jack-the-lad. A family man, at heart, he still believed he had a right to be single whenever it suited him. ‘Count me in, boss.’

‘Me too!’ That was Arnie Sutton. Married with four children, he often rolled home, drunk and violent. Thankfully, his long-suffering wife was a match for him. An hour in the pub would cost him a week of nagging and deprivation in the bedroom. But did he care? Not one jot; because the making-up was well worth the aggravation.

‘Count me in!’ Jacob Tully was a quiet, unmarried young man, burdened with a dictatorial mother. She thought nothing of thrashing him with the poker, the scars of which he carried on his back. Usually he would not have accepted Townsend’s invitation, but tonight he felt the need to fortify himself before walking into the usual war zone at home.

Jacob had long promised himself that one of these fine days he would pack his bag, and walk out of his mother’s house for good. Deep down, though, he knew he could never abandon her. For good or bad, Mabel was his mother. Maybe her quick temper was his fault; maybe he wasn’t earning enough, or looking after her well. Maybe she was lonely and frightened, needing to vent her frustrations on the only person left in her life since her husband died two years ago. If he left, how would she manage? She had little money, and whenever anyone mentioned her going to work, she panicked, claiming she was too ill, that no one realised how hard it was for her to get through each day.

Jacob was the breadwinner, solely responsible for the bills and upkeep of their home. Each day his mother seemed to lean on him more, and slowly but surely, he had allowed it to happen.

Even now, when he found himself the butt of her vicious temper and spiteful ways, he could not find the heart to desert her. But if he ever did summon up the courage to leave her, where would he go?

As a schoolboy, he had been discouraged from making friends, and later when he’d started dating, his mother always managed to get rid of any girl he brought home.

Now, without real friends or interests, Jacob felt life was passing him by. He deeply regretted that, but life under his mother’s rule was impossible to change. He had no idea how he might regain his freedom.

He gave a deep, inward sigh. As Bill Townsend had implied just now, being all alone in the world was a frightening prospect. Sometimes, you were better off with the devil you knew.

Bill Townsend had been pleasantly surprised at Jacob’s offer to join him. ‘You’re sure, are you, lad? I mean … as a rule, you’re allus in a rush to get home.’

Jacob’s uncomfortable existence was a secret from his workmates.

‘There’s no need for me to rush home. Not tonight anyway,’ Jacob answered warily. ‘Mum won’t be home till late,’ he lied. ‘She’s visiting some old friends in Darwen, and I’m to get my own dinner. To tell you the truth, I’m not much good at peeling spuds and all that, so I might as well enjoy a pint or two in the pub with all of you.’ Taking matters into his own hands was a rare and exciting thing. It made him feel proud, like a man should.

Of course his mother would make him pay for this, but just for tonight he didn’t care. He knew he would feel the weight of the poker across his back when he rolled home, all the merrier for a few pints, but his back was broad enough to take it, and his spirit all the stronger for having defied her.

‘Right then!’ Bill’s gruff voice rattled across the factory floor. ‘Anybody else? And don’t tell me you haven’t got a thirst on, because I know better! Surely, the missus won’t begrudge you one pint.’

He was greeted with a flurry of excuses.

‘Huh! You don’t know my missus.’

‘I’ve promised to take mine down to the Lion’s Head. There’s a darts match on tonight.’

‘An’ I’m looking forward to my woman’s fish pie and chips … best you’ve ever tasted.’

Bill decided they were all cowards of one sort or another. ‘Go on then, clear off,’ he taunted jokingly. ‘Miserable buggers, the lot of you!’

The men collected their wage packets and left one by one, some for home, some to make their way down to the pub.

The last person to collect his wages was Tom Denton.

‘What’s bothering you, Tom lad?’ Bill had promised himself that he wouldn’t ask again, but he didn’t like seeing Tom so troubled. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, and today you’ve been miles away in your thoughts. Is there anything I can do?’

Tom forced a smile. ‘Like I said, I promised the boy. And … well, I’ve got things to do, you know how it is.’

That was no lie. And they were important things, too long neglected.

For what seemed an age, the older man studied Tom. He was saddened to see how Tom’s ready smile never quite reached his eyes, and how he occasionally glanced towards the door like a man trapped. ‘I’m concerned about you,’ Bill admitted.

‘You’ve no need to be.’

‘Mebbe, mebbe not, but I want you to know … if you’ve got worries gnawing at you, I’d like to help if I can.’

Tom gave a weary little grin. ‘Show me a man who hasn’t got worries gnawing at him, but I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.’

‘Just remember then, lad, I’m here if you need to talk. You can trust me. I hope you know I’m not a man to blab about other folks’ business.’

‘I know. But like I say, I’m fine.’

In truth, Tom was desperate to confide in someone – his foreman, his own father – but it would not change the situation. Because they could not help him, however much they might want to.

Thanking Bill once again for his concern, he bade him good night.

When Bill heard the outer door bang shut, he went across to the window and looked out into the rainy street. ‘Why, in God’s name, do you put up with her, Tom, lad?’ he muttered. ‘She’s a bad lot. You’d be better off without her … you and Casey both.’ He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘If you ask me, it’s high time you took your boy, and cleared off out of it!’

He continued to watch as Tom pulled down his flat cap, turned up his coat collar and hurried away.

Bill’s mind was still on Tom, as he carried out a tour of the factory, checking that everything was safe and secure. It’s a pity he ever met that damned woman, he thought angrily. She’s like a bitch on heat, and I for one would never put up with it … not for love nor money.’

He glanced out the window, but Tom was long gone. ‘He’s a decent sort,’ he muttered to himself, as he turned off the many lights. ‘The lad deserves better.’

Hurrying along the street, Tom was deep in thought. Having carefully examined the situation for the umpteenth time, he was convinced he had made the right decision for everyone concerned. Even so, he felt no satisfaction or joy; only guilt.

He hurried on. When the tears rolled down his face, he brushed them away. Don’t you falter now, Tom, he softly chided himself. You know in your heart there is no other way.

‘MAM!’

Having run up the stairs, the boy was about to open the bedroom door when he heard his mother yell out, ‘Casey, is that you?’

‘Yes, Mam.’ He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. ‘The door’s stuck.’ He gave it another shove but it stayed fast.

‘Stop pushing on it!’ Ruth yelled back. ‘I’ve locked it. I don’t want folks bursting into my room when I’m changing.’

Buxom and shapely, with flowing brown hair, and dark eyes, Ruth Denton was an attractive woman, except for her narrow lips and whiney voice.

‘Stop being a damned nuisance,’ she warned, ‘or you’ll feel the back of my hand across yer arse!’

‘You said we were having fish and chips tonight. If you give me some money, I’ll go and get them.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘But it’s ten past five. Dad’ll be home soon.’ He tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.

‘Get away from that door, and wait downstairs. I’ll not be long.’

‘That’s what you always say, and you still take ages.’ Putting his back to the door, Casey slid down into a crouched position. Slightly built, with thick brown hair and dark, striking eyes, he had his father’s kindly nature. ‘Mam?’

‘I thought I told you to clear off.’

‘Has the man gone?’

‘What man?’ Panic marbled her voice. ‘What are yer talking about? There’s no man ’ere!’

‘No, I mean just before, when I came up the street, I saw a man at the door. I thought you’d let him in.’

She gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Oh, that man? O’ course I didn’t let him in. I sent him packing.’

‘Did you? But I never saw him go.’ Casey’s instincts told him she was lying, and it wouldn’t be for the first time.

‘Just do as yer told!’ Ignoring his comment about ‘the man’, she softened her voice. ‘Go down now, Casey. I’ll be there directly with money for the fish an’ chips.’

There followed a long pause, causing her to believe he’d gone.

‘Little sod! He’s eight years old, going on eighty!’ Snuggling up to the man’s naked body, Ruth ran her fingers down his neck. ‘I were counting on the two of us having a good hour together, and now he’s gone and ruined it.’

The man reached out and tweaked her erect nipple. ‘Aw, well,’ he sighed, ‘next time, mebbe. When the brat’s at school.’

‘MAM!’

‘For pity’s sake, I told yer to go downstairs!’

‘Who are you talking to?’

‘Nobody!’

‘I thought I heard somebody.’

‘Well, that were probably me, talking to myself, like a crazy woman. It’s you that sends me crazy, allus hanging about, spying on me at every turn. Do like I say and sod off downstairs.’

‘There’s nothing to do.’

‘Well … find summat to do. Clean your dad’s guitar, if you want. Just busy yerself till I come down.’

‘But I need you to come down now. I need to get the fish and chips. Dad’ll be hungry.’

‘By, yer a persistent little git, aren’t yer, eh?’ Grabbing her shoe from the floor, she threw it at the door, where it landed with a thump. ‘I’ll not tell you again! Just get off out of it. D’you hear me?’

‘Can I really clean Dad’s guitar?’

She hesitated. ‘Well, yeah … I expect so.’ She knew how much that guitar meant to Tom. His own father had taught him to play it when he was even younger than Casey was now.

Some years ago, when his father contracted arthritis in his fingers and couldn’t play it any more, he handed the guitar down to Tom.

‘Take good care of it, lad,’ Tom had told her many times of what his father had said, ‘When you play, you must open your heart to its magic. Listen to what it tells you, and you’ll be repaid tenfold.’

On teaching his own son how to play it, Tom told Casey of his grandfather’s words, and Casey had never forgotten them.

He recalled them now. ‘Mam, I’ll go downstairs, but if I polish the guitar, can I play it afterwards … please?’

‘YES! I don’t give a bugger what you do with the thing. So long as yer don’t keep botherin’ me. It doesn’t make money, and it doesn’t put food on the table, and sometimes when your father’s down there playing till all hours, we can none of us get any sleep. That blessed guitar is for neither use nor ornament. As far as I’m concerned, yer can tek it to the pop-shop. Tell old Foggarty he can have it for a few quid.’

The boy was shocked to his roots. ‘You can’t say that! It’s Dad’s guitar, not yours!’

When there was no response, he waited a moment, pressing his ear to the door. He thought he heard someone sniggering, and it didn’t sound like his mam. Now, though, in the ensuing silence, he wasn’t so sure.

‘You won’t be long before you come down, will you, Mam?’

He was greeted with silence.

‘I’m going down now, Mam, but I need to go to the chip shop. All right?’

The silence thickened.

‘MAM!’ He couldn’t get her suggestion out of his mind. ‘You wouldn’t really take Dad’s guitar to Foggarty’s, would you?’

‘I bloody would! I’ll tek you, an’ all, if you don’t get away from that door!’ The impact of a second object being hurled at the door made Casey back off.

Concerned by her threat to sell his dad’s guitar to old Foggarty, he kicked the door with the toe of his shoe, and ran off down the stairs. A smile crept across his face at the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. Then he thought of his mother, and the smile fell away.

Deep down, he knew his mam had no love for his dad, and that was not fair, because he worked hard to give her everything; to give them both everything.

He recalled the man he had seen outside the door. He couldn’t help but wonder if the man really had been allowed inside the house. But if that was true, where was he now?

When the dark suspicions crept into his thoughts, he thrust them away and concentrated on the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. He remembered everything he’d been taught, and now he went through it all in his mind. When he played the guitar, the music was in his head and in his heart. When Casey listened to his own music, he felt incredibly happy, happier than at any other time. It was magic, feeling the smooth wood, warm and alive, against him. When he moved his fingers along the strings and the guitar began to sing, it was so hauntingly beautiful, it made him want to cry.

He had told his dad how he felt, and his dad explained, ‘That’s because the guitar is speaking to you, bringing your senses alive. Music is an age-old language. It speaks to everyone, young and old. It lifts the spirit and touches the heart, and when it stops it lives on inside you, making you richer in mind and spirit.’

Casey understood. Daddy made it all so easy to understand. He adored his dad, but sometimes he didn’t like his mam. She shouted a lot, and she told lies. Just now, she said he could play the guitar, but only because she wanted him to go away. But why did she want him to go away? Why couldn’t she just come down and give him the fish-and-chip money?

At the back of his mind, he knew why, but it was such an awful thing, he didn’t even want to think about it.

Instead he made himself think of playing the guitar, and he was filled with such excitement, he could hardly breathe.

He now ran into the front parlour and closed the door behind him. He was happy in here, especially when he was allowed to play the guitar. Mam could shout and scream all she liked, but he wouldn’t listen.

‘We’re rid of him at last.’ Lying across Len’s nakedness, Ruth tantalised him, licking his mouth with the tip of her tongue. ‘We’d best be quick, Len!’ With the minutes swiftly passing, she was growing nervous.

‘Stop panicking. There’s time enough.’ He was enjoying the foreplay.

‘There isn’t time,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t have Tom finding us naked in his bedroom. Can you imagine the ructions if he found his wife and best mate wrestling about in his bed?’

Hearing a noise outside the bedroom, she sat back on her haunches. ‘Ssh! What was that?’ She glanced nervously towards the door. ‘If we’re not careful, he’ll be bursting in here, any minute.’

She had no real affection for Tom. He was not an exciting man, while she was a woman who positively thrived on excitement. She liked the thrill of the chase, and she enjoyed the attention of other men, even though she knew they were only after one thing – which they got in abundance, and paid for in ready cash. Steady, affable Tom hardly ever made demands on her, but that was his loss, not hers.

The thing was, she liked her men feisty, willing to take risks and grab life by the horns. Tom was not like that. He was, however, a good provider, and an excellent father to Casey, while she had no time for the brat. If it hadn’t been for Tom looking after his wellbeing, Casey would be left to his own devices.

Thankfully, Tom was always there for Casey, and the boy idolised him. They each had the same interests, in music and football, and in creative things. They had made a den in the cellar, every wall painted a different colour and every square inch of the ceiling carefully pinned with cut-out pictures of aeroplanes all heading the same way, as though in a mass exodus.

They spent precious time together down there, talking music, playing the guitar, making the cellar into a wonderland.

Whenever they tried to include her, she didn’t want to know. The one time Tom and Casey managed to persuade her down to the cellar, she ridiculed their efforts and couldn’t get out quick enough.

Ruth realised her jealousy of the happy childhood Tom was trying to provide for Casey was because of her own impoverished childhood.

Still, Tom was a good father to Casey, and when some years ago she had been in a desperate situation, Tom had unwittingly proved to be a godsend.

Thinking of Tom now, she smiled to herself. If only he knew what she was doing right now. And who with. Oh, but it would give her so much pleasure to shock him with the truth. But what if the truth damaged her more than it damaged him? Still, the thought of Tom walking in on her and Len gave her a shiver of wicked delight.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Reaching up, Len grabbed her by the buttocks and roughly drew her closer to him. Unlike Len, Tom had never been, nor ever would be, man enough for her.

‘I’m smiling at you …’ She answered, ‘at the pair of us being together like this.’

‘Hmm …’ Also aware that Tom could burst in at any minute, Len concentrated on the matter in hand, while Ruth’s devious mind inevitably strayed back to Tom.

In all the years she’d known him, Tom had never done her wrong, and she believed he never would. But if it was not for her shady sideline she felt her life would be unbearable. Even so, she was happy in the knowledge that when she grew unattractive, and the men who excited her were gone, Tom would still be there to provide for her.

Right now, though, she gave herself freely to the men who used her yet had no real feelings for her. Len in particular could take her to dizzy heights, the like of which she had never experienced with her undemanding husband.

‘Ssh! Did you hear that? It sounds like there’s somebody out there.’

‘There’s nobody out there. It’s the birds on the roof, or summat. Or it’s the kid playing games to wind yer up. Yeah, that’ll be it. If yer ask me, that lad o’ yours wants keeping in check! If ’e were mine I’d give ’im a right slap. Irritating little bastard.’

‘Hey!’ she giggled. ‘If you’re itching to slap somebody, why don’t you slap me?’ Grabbing his hand from her breast, she clamped it over her buttocks.

He liked that. ‘Yer a wicked bitch, Ruth Denton, a woman who’d sell herself for a shilling.’ He sniggered. ‘If Tom ever upped and left, I wouldn’t be surprised if you flogged the kid to the highest bidder.’

She chuckled. ‘It wouldn’t bother me to be rid of the brat,’ she confessed. ‘Come to think of it, old Foggarty might pay me more for him than he’d pay for that damned guitar!’ She gave a low, throaty cackle. ‘I’m sure the old devil would find a good use for the boy … one way or another.’ Sometimes the nastiness in her took even her by surprise.

Rolling her over, Len climbed on top, biting and caressing her neck and giving of himself in such a way that the passion became too strong for him to hold back.

Afterwards, when he rolled away from her, he told her, ‘Yer a bad example to women, you are. In times past, you’d ’ave been tarred and feathered. To tell the truth, I don’t know how poor Tom puts up with yer.’

He meant it too. Having worked alongside Tom for a good many years, he knew what a decent sort he was. He even felt a pang of guilt.

Ruth gave him a playful slap. ‘Hey! What’s all this about “poor Tom”? Forget him! All I need to know is … did you get yer money’s worth?’

His answer was to grab her about the waist and roughly draw her to him. ‘You certainly know how to please a man,’ he admitted. ‘Matter o’ fact, I might even go for another helping. What d’yer say, eh?’

‘It’ll cost yer.’ She giggled, snaking her arms round his neck.

Headed home, Tom was deep in thought, his face dampened by the drizzle and his mind alive with thoughts of what he’d decided.

It was a moment before he realised that he’d actually walked right past the bus stop. Turning to go back, he was dismayed to see the bus had already set off. ‘Dammit!’ That would put another half-hour onto the journey home.

No matter. At least he now had more time to think, and to plan. There must be no regrets, and he must make sure that the boy was safe. That, above all else, was the important thing.

When the slight rainfall became a real downpour, he quickened his steps through the town to King Street, where he saw the queue in the fish-and-chip shop. When the aroma drifted towards him, his stomach began rumbling.

I wonder if Ruth’s cooked us a meal, he thought, quickening his pace towards the lights of the chip shop. I bet she hasn’t. I bet our Casey’s not been fed … again.

Countless times he’d got home to find that Ruth was out and Casey was searching the cupboard for food. Keeping house and seeing to the boy’s welfare were never his wife’s priorities.

He ducked into the fish-and-chip shop. When his turn came, he ordered, ‘Fish and chips three times, please.’

‘Got caught out in the rain, did yer?’ The woman had a round, rosy face and a kindly voice, much like his own mother, who had died shortly before he’d married Ruth. Suddenly, Tom wondered if his mother, looking down, would be ashamed at his plans. He truly hoped not.

He forced a smile. ‘The rain’s coming down hard,’ he remarked. ‘I reckon it’ll settle in for the night now.’ He found it amazing how he could converse so casually about something and nothing, when he was intent on a deed so dark and drastic that lives would be changed for ever.

The woman dished the food into the paper bags. ‘D’yer want salt and vinegar, young man?’

‘Yeah … go on then, but not too much, eh?’

‘Have yer far to go wi’ these?’

‘Only to Henry Street.’

‘Hmm! That’s still a good long stride an’ no mistake.’ She regarded him with interest. Seeing how wet he was, and how sad he seemed, she suggested, ‘You go and sit yersel’ in that chair over by the window. I’ll put these on the fryer to keep warm, then I’ll mek yer a pot o’ tea … no charge, mind. It’s on the house.’

‘I need to get back,’ Tom explained graciously. ‘I missed my bus so I’ve had to walk, but I’m almost home now. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be in the warm. Thank you all the same.’

She was genuinely disappointed. ‘Aye, well, I expect you’re eager to get home to yer good woman, eh?’

Tom gave a wry little smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’ He wished Ruth could realise how she had damaged his love by her rejection of Casey, together with her infidelity to himself.

Often it felt to Tom that there were only two people in the whole world that mattered to him now. They were his father, Bob, and his son, Casey; and may God forgive him, for he was about to hurt them badly.

‘There you are, son.’ The kindly woman tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Oh!’ Tom apologised, ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘Are you all right?’ She’d seen the faraway look in his eyes and, being a mother herself, she suspected he was unhappy. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve a son about your age, and I know how some things can get you down.’ She smiled. ‘Money worries, is it?’

‘No, we manage well enough, I reckon,’ Tom assured her.

‘Oh, well then, it’ll be woman trouble,’ she tutted. ‘It’s allus woman trouble … at least with my son it is. She’s already left him twice and come back with her tail between her legs. I tell him straight, you’d be better off without her, but he never listens—’

She would have ranted on, but Tom interrupted, ‘No, it’s not woman trouble, but thanks for your interest.’ She meant well, he thought, but from what she was saying, it sounded as though she might have troubles of her own.

‘Right then!’ She handed him the bag of food. ‘I’ve double-wrapped them in newspaper so they should still be nice and hot by the time yer get home.’

Wishing her well, Tom opened his wage packet, settled the bill, and left.

He knew Ruth would not be too pleased about him dipping into the wage packet. No doubt she would launch into one of her tantrums.

Besides, he had no intention of being drawn into an argument, especially not tonight of all nights, when he had other pressing matters on his mind.

With the three meals bagged up and tucked under his coat to keep warm, he quickened his pace towards home. The sooner it’s done, the better, he told himself. There’s no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

It wasn’t long before he was approaching Henry Street.

As he crossed the little Blakewater bridge, he paused, holding the meals safe with one hand, while with the other, he frantically searched his coat pockets for the front door key.

Still digging about in his pockets, determined to find the key, he set off again. By this time, he was only minutes away from his front door.

The closer he got to the house, the more he despaired at the thought of what he must do, and how it would devastate those he loved.

Oh, Tom, have you really thought it through? Not for the first time he questioned himself. You must know what it will do to that lad o’ yours?

Momentarily distraught, he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and his heart heavy. It’s a terrible thing you’re planning, Tom, he admitted … a terrible, sinful thing.

Raising his gaze to the skies, he asked softly, ‘Please, Lord, don’t punish the boy for my bad actions. Look after him, Lord. Don’t let him come to any harm.’ When the tears threatened, he took a deep breath and continued on; his pace now slow and laboured. But his determination remained unswerving.

Nothing, not his crippling sense of guilt nor the deep concern he felt for his father, nor even his complete devotion to the boy, could change his mind. Not when the alternative could prove to be even more painful. Not when he knew that whichever road he took, all would be lost anyway.

Upstairs, Tom’s wife and the trusted workmate were parting company.

‘Ssh!’

While the man frantically dressed, Ruth ran onto the land­ing and listened. Nervous, she fled back into the bed­room. ‘There’s somebody outside the front door. You’d best be quick!’

She grabbed the money he was offering, then took him by the arm and led him quickly and silently onto the landing, where she peered down.

‘It’s all clear … hurry!’ She ran him down the stairs. ‘Go out the back way.’ Keeping one wary eye on the front door, she hissed, ‘Through the scullery and out, along the ginnel. Be quick, dammit!’ She shoved Len towards the back rooms.

Relieved to hear that Tom was chatting with someone outside the front door, she fled swiftly back up the stairs and into the bedroom where, breathless and excited, she hid her shameful earnings in a purpose-made slit in the hem of the curtain linings.

She then went to the mirror, where she wiped away the heavy make-up and tidied her hair.

On checking herself in the mirror, she wagged a finger at the reflected image. ‘One o’ these days, my girl, if yer not careful, you’ll be caught out, sure as eggs are eggs!’ The thought of her conquest fleeing through the alley­ways with his underpants on back to front and his trouser-belt dangling, had her stifling a giggle.

Outside, Tom bade the neighbour good night. ‘Mind how you go, Mick, lad.’ The amiable old man was away to get his regular pint of ale at the local. He was often too early, but the landlord always let him in, and no one ever complained. Even the local bobby looked the other way.

Impatient, Tom struggled with the fish and chips, finally found his key, and slid the key in the lock. Just then, out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone running out of the ginnel some way down the street. For a split second he thought he recognised the figure. But it was dark, the man was quickly gone from sight, and now he was not altogether certain.

Tom shook his head, No … it couldn’t be Len, he thought. What in God’s name would he be doing running out of a ginnel, and here of all places? Besides, as I recall, he sent word to the foreman, to say he was having some teeth taken out.

Looking again at the shadowy place where the figure had disappeared, a niggling thought crossed his mind. Then he glanced up at the front bedroom, where the light was on. ‘No …’ He dared not allow himself to believe what was running through his mind: the shocking idea of his wife and Len … up there in his own bed. All the same, he knew from experience that it was not an impossibility. Don’t be so bloody stupid! Len’s a good mate! he angrily dispatched the wicked idea from his mind.

But the seed was sown. Maybe it really was Len running out of the ginnel. ‘You’re wrong.’ he muttered angrily. ‘Take a grip of yourself, man!’

Opening the door, he entered the house, and called out his son’s name. ‘Casey! Casey, where are you?’

When there was no answer he closed the door, went down the passage and called up the stairs, ‘Ruth, I’m home.’

Ruth came rushing from the parlour, where she’d been congratulating herself on her conquest of Len, and her quick wit in covering her tracks. But then she’d had enough practice over the years.

Tom was surprised to see her coming from the direction of the back room. ‘I thought you were upstairs.’

‘Really? Well, now you can see I’m not.’

‘Did you know the lights are on up there?’

She feigned surprise. ‘Oh, are they? Well, yes, I was up there changing the beds, but I came rushing down when I heard you at the door.’

Cursing herself for leaving the lights on, she wisely changed the subject. ‘Anyway, you’re late! Where’ve you been?’ Keeping a distance, she groaned, ‘The tea isn’t ready yet, but I’ve been up to my neck in ironing, and I’ve been catching up on a multitude of things.’

Tom was not surprised. ‘So there’s no tea ready, then?’

‘Like I said, I’ve been that busy I haven’t even had time to go to the butcher’s and get the sausages I planned for your meal.’

Eager to vindicate herself she began to whine, ‘You’ve no idea of the time it takes to run a house.’ She held out her hand. ‘Oh, and I’ll need some money if I’m going to buy some food from the corner shop. You go and talk to Casey.’ She stretched out her hand, ‘come on then!’ waiting.

‘Where’s Casey?’ Normally, the boy would be at the door, looking for his dad.

‘He’s in the front parlour. He said something about cleaning your guitar.’

At that moment, soft musical tones emanated from the front parlour.

‘Well! The little sod!’ Ruth said angrily. ‘I warned him not to play the guitar, but you know what he’s like … doesn’t listen to a damned word I say.’

Oblivious to the fact that Tom was standing in wet clothes, she screeched at him, ‘Did you not hear what I said? If I’m going to the corner shop, I’ll need money.’

‘For pity’s sake, woman, let me catch my breath, will you!’ Not once had she asked how his day had been, or noticed that he was wet to the marrow. ‘I need to dry myself off …’

‘Oh, yes … you’re soaked, aren’t you!’ Stepping back a pace, she feigned concern. ‘You’d best dry yourself on the towel in the kitchen, while I go to the shop.’ She thrust her open palm beneath his face. ‘I’m waiting! The quicker you give me some money, the quicker I’ll be back.’

When she leaned forward to collect the little brown packet containing his wages, Tom could smell the other man on her; the thick tobacco odour that clung to her skin and lingered in her hair. Ruth smoked Woodbines, while it seemed this man rolled a stronger brand of tobacco.

The image of the man running from the ginnel raised a suspicion in his mind. He knew Len smoked roll-ups. Was it possible that he and Ruth had … No! It was too loathsome to imagine. Besides, any number of men smoked roll-ups.

He knew his wife had been with a man, though. The telltale tobacco odour had a woody smell, while her Woodbines were much sweeter. Over the years, Tom had learned to tell the difference.

With her wanton ways and devious nature, she had caused him a deal of misery, but now it no longer mattered. Now he had a plan. Whatever happened, Ruth was a survivor and would come through. It was young Casey he worried about, and to that end he had made contingencies.

Reaching into his coat, he took out the bag of fish and chips and handed it to her.

‘What’s this?’ She sniffed. ‘Fish and chips!’ Her face fell. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve spent good money on fish and bloody chips? Especially when I’d already planned sausage and mash. But, oh no! You had to take matters into your own hands, didn’t you, eh?’

Tom ignored her goading. ‘You just said yourself, you haven’t got the meal ready, so now you don’t have to bother, do you?’ Giving her a way out for not cooking a meal was becoming a regular occurrence.

He handed her the open wage packet. ‘There you are. Count it, if you like, while I go and put these out on plates before they get too cold to eat.’

‘Hey!’ She caught him by the arm. ‘You seem to forget, there are bills to be paid and I need to get your trousers out of Foggarty’s pawn shop. What you’ve given me is not enough. Oh, and while we’re at it, your son needs new shoes. How he wears ’em out so quick, I never will know!’

But with his troubling thoughts elsewhere, Tom was not listening.

‘Hey! I’m talking to you. What’s wrong with yer?’ Tom seemed too calm to her, too quick to back away from her attempt at an argument.

He looked up. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me except I’m starving. And, no doubt, so is Casey. And, as I recall, it wouldn’t be for the first time.’

‘Don’t you dare have a go at me!’ Ruth snapped. ‘I’ve already told you … I had a pile of ironing and other stuff to see to. Then some man came to the door, looking to sell me some rubbish. I got rid of him, though. Ask Casey, I’m sure he’ll tell you.’ She knew he would, and her idea was to get in first. ‘… And another thing, I’m really surprised at you opening your wage packet. You never do that as a rule.’

Tom looked her in the eye for what seemed an age. He wanted to tell her so many things. He needed to share his troubling thoughts, but she was not a woman to care one way or the other, so instead he answered in a quiet voice, ‘You’re right. I don’t open my wages as a rule, but sometimes, we need to break the rules, don’t we?’

Her face reddened with guilt. ‘That’s a strange thing for you to say.’ There was something really different about him tonight, she thought … something worrying. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found out that she was having a fling with Len. She nervously toyed with the idea that he might be saving the confrontation for later; possibly after Casey had gone to bed.

‘Course I’m all right.’

Tom threw off his coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and went into the scullery. He was surprised to see the back door wide open, and the rain coming in.

‘What’s going on, Ruth?’ There it was again, that niggling suspicion.

Panicked, she stuffed the wage packet into her pocket. ‘What d’you mean? There’s nothing “going on”.’

‘It’s raining, and the back door’s wide open.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Greatly relieved, she gave the first answer that came to mind. ‘I forgot to shut it after I came up from the yard …’

‘I thought you said you’d been changing the beds?’ Now he was in no doubt she was up to her old tricks again. She had been entertaining a man and, by the looks of it, he must have left in a hurry. Tom recalled the figure he’d seen running from the ginnel. He hoped the man was not Len, because that would be humiliation twice over.

Smiling sweetly, Ruth explained, ‘I changed the beds earlier, and then I remembered I’d left the back gate open. I was running in from the rain, and didn’t remember to shut the door behind me. Besides, Casey was yelling for me.’

Closing the door, she made a show of sympathy. ‘Aw, Tom! Just look at the state of you. Come ’ere … I’d best tend to you before I go.’ She lifted the towel from the rail and tenderly ran it through his wet hair, then over his hands and face. ‘That’s better. Now then, husband, you’d better fetch Casey while I put the fish and chips out. There’s nothing so urgent from the corner shop that it won’t wait till tomorrow.’

In truth, she felt too exhausted to go traipsing all the way down the street. That Len was too energetic and demanding for his own good, she mused with a sly little smile.

When Tom took the towel from her, she felt pleased with herself at having duped him yet again. ‘I’m sorry about not having the meal ready.’ Leaning forward, she brushed his face with a fleeting kiss.

Tom could not forget the figure running from the ginnel, and even now the thick aroma of rolled tobacco lingered on her.

When she pecked him on the cheek he simply nodded and moved away. Just now, the touch of her hands was repugnant to him. Making his way out of the scullery, he slung the wet towel into the laundry bin as he went.

As Tom headed for the front parlour, he could hear Ruth loudly complained, ‘I already had sausage and mash planned and now, what with you spending money on fish and chips, I’ve no idea how I’ll stretch it for the bills and everything.’

He called back, ‘You forget, I did that overtime. So you’ll manage. There’s more than enough money to pay the bills and get Casey’s new shoes. As for my trousers, you needn’t bother.’

He was convinced that she and Len had lain together, but he thrust the ugly suspicion aside and with a quieter heart he quickened his steps.

Life could be very cruel, as he had recently learned only too well, and there was much to be afraid of. But this evening he could spend precious time with his son, and that was all he cared about.

For now.