Three Letters

To my darling Ken, as always.

Table of Contents

Dear Reader,

It never ceases to amaze and touch me deeply, when I read your wonderful and very honest letters. I hope you can confide in me whenever you feel lonely or sad and, as ever, I will always reply as soon as I can.

For those of you going through a very difficult time, I hope things will be alright and I do understand and listen. For now, my thoughts are with you.

All my love,

Jo x

For Casey

My love will always be with you, son, and if it’s possible, I will be ever by your side, watching and guiding you. When you’re worried and sad of heart, you might hear the softest rush of sound about you. It will be me, come to encourage and help you.

Be brave, my son. Follow your heart, and know always that I love you.

‘R
IGHT, 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.’