Three Letters (19 page)

‘Where is it then, Granddad? Where’s my letter? I want to read it, please, Granddad.’

The old man had dreaded this moment.

Dolly was desperately sad, ‘Might it be best if I leave now?’ she whispered.

His answer was a vigorous shake of the head, which told her exactly what she wanted to hear: that she was needed; that they had accepted her.

Having collected the letters from the side table, he then went to sit on the sofa. Patting the area beside him, he told Casey, ‘You can sit
’atween me an’ Dolly while yer read the letter.’ He beckoned Dolly to the sofa, and she was more than willing to do as he asked.

On catching sight of Ruth’s letter, Casey asked angrily, ‘Why is there a letter for
her
?’ Grabbing it from the old man’s fingers, he threw it across the sofa.

‘That’s not for us to question, is it lad?’

From what Tom had written in his father’s letter, he obviously
favoured a reconciliation between Ruth and Casey but, to the old fella’s way of thinking, it was not a good idea. Recovering Ruth’s letter, he laid it on the side table. ‘It’s best if you don’t concern yourself as to why your dad left your mam a letter. I’m sure he had his own good reasons.’

Taking hold of the boy under the armpits, the old man hoisted him onto the sofa, where Casey busily opened
the envelope.

‘What does it say, Granddad?’

‘All kinda things. But look, lad, why don’t yer let me or Dolly read it out loud for yer?’

Clutching his letter tight, Casey shook his head. ‘No. I want to read it myself. I can. I’m good at reading.’

‘I already know that. So go on then! Get on with it.’ He laid a cautionary hand on the boy’s arm. ‘It’s a hard letter for a boy to read, mind. Are
you sure you wouldn’t rather I read it quietly to yer?’

The boy was adamant. ‘No, Granddad! It’s my letter, and I want to read it by myself.’

And so, he did; silently and with his expression slowly changing as he read through the painful words at the end:

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.

Dad xx

Suddenly, Casey was up on his feet. Throwing the letter across the sofa, he ran out of the room, through the scullery and down the outer steps to the cellar.

A few minutes later, that was where Granddad
Bob found him, hunched in a dark corner, sobbing his heart out.

‘Hey, lad … Oh, come on now.’ With great difficulty, he slid down beside Casey. He did not put his arm about him, nor did he say anything more. Instead, he sat there with the boy, the two of them close together, side by side, while Casey sobbed as though his heart would break.

‘I’ve got summat for you, lad.’ Bob opened his hand
to reveal a photograph. ‘It’s a picture of you with yer mam and dad. It were your first birthday, and I took this picture with my old Brownie camera. Keep it in your pocket, lad. Whenever you feel sad, look at it and remember the good times. It’s not a brilliant photo, but it’s the only photo we have of you with yer mam and daddy.’ Tenderly, he closed the photo into the boy’s hand.

Upstairs,
Dolly had gone into the scullery and, after realising that the two of them were in the cellar, she took it on herself to fill the kettle from the cold water tap and pop it onto the hob. Locating a small box of matches on the shelf above, she struck one alight and set it to the gas ring. Next, she set about preparing teapot and cups, and afterwards searched the cupboard to find suitable ingredients
to make some cheese sandwiches. She knew it could be hard to deal with things on an empty stomach.

A short time later, with the kettle merrily boiling, and the sandwiches set out on the plate, she turned down the gas, cleared up the mess she’d made, and patiently waited.

Minutes passed, then it was a quarter of an hour. Then it was half an hour, and still there was no sign of them. I expect
they’re talking things through, she thought. I’ll not go down – it’s not my place to do that – but I’ll be here when they come up, an’ no mistake. Her mind was made up: she was going nowhere until she knew they were safe and well. So she waited. First she paced the scullery, then she paced the parlour, and now she was halfway down the steps, then she was back up in the scullery again.

Dolly,
however, was wrong in her assumption that the old man and the boy were ‘talking things through’, because three-quarters of an hour after Bob had given him the photo, not another word had been spoken in the cellar. Instead, Casey sobbed until he could sob no more, and the old man remained beside him, silently keeping him warm.

After what seemed an age, Casey snuggled closer still to the old man.
‘I don’t hate my dad.’

‘I know you don’t, lad.’

‘Where is he now, Granddad? Is he in Heaven?’

‘I’m not really sure, but I should think he’s safe enough, wherever he might be now. I don’t believe he’ll come to any harm. Your daddy is a good man, d’yer see? And they do say that, while we can’t see them, they can still see us.’

‘Oh!’ Casey’s eyes grew bigger. ‘D’you think Dad’s here, in the cellar,
with us?’

‘He might be. Who knows?’ The old man gave a dry little chuckle. ‘Mind you, if he is down ’ere with us, I hope he’s not sitting on this damp floor, ’cause I can feel the cold right through me trousers.’ He gave a groan, ‘D’yer know what, lad?’

‘What, Granddad?’

‘I reckon if I sit ’ere much longer, I’ll never be able to get up, ever again!’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, ’cause me ol’ bones will
’ave set so ’ard, they’ll be stiff as chair legs, that’s why.’

‘Do they hurt, Granddad?’

‘Not yet, but I’m sure they will, soonever I try an’ move.’

‘D’you want me to help you up?’

‘Aye, go on then.’ The old man held out his hand. ‘One big tug should do it.’

There followed a deal of grunting and groaning, and quiet cursing too, but after a bit of a struggle, the old man was on his feet and
carefully limbering up, ready for the long journey up the steps and into the scullery.

First, though, he drew the boy to the small basement window, where he examined the scars of grief streaked across his pale little face. ‘I’m so sorry, lad.’ His old heart was deeply pained. ‘I’d ’ave given anything for your dad not to have left us like that.’

The boy looked up at the lovable, weathered old
face, and those blue eyes that usually twinkled and smiled, and which were now so quiet and sad. ‘Me too, Granddad.’ He didn’t know what else to say.

‘Come on then, m’boy.’ The old man forced a smile. ‘Your friend Dolly will think we’ve deserted her.’

‘She’s your friend too, Granddad … isn’t she?’

The old man smiled properly then. ‘Aye, I reckon she is, an’ all.’

Dolly was greatly relieved
to see the two of them coming steadily up the steps. ‘I thought you’d set up home down there,’ she chided light-heartedly. ‘Look at the pair of you. Good Lord! You must be frozen to the bone.’

Hobbling into the scullery, the old man was cheered by the kettle boiling on the hob, and, there on the kitchenette, a plate of sandwiches. ‘By! That looks grand!’ He spread his hands out to the flickering
light beneath the kettle. ‘Come ’ere, lad, warm yersel’ afore we sit down again.’

When Casey went to him, Bob gathered his small hands into his, rubbing them to pass on the warmth he’d gathered from the stove. ‘There! That’s better, isn’t it, eh?’

Casey looked up at his granddad’s smiling face and, for the first time since losing his dad, he felt safe, with this darling old man and also with
Dolly, who had already shown herself to be a true friend. ‘I love you, Granddad.’ He turned to smile at Dolly. ‘I love you too.’

‘And I love you back.’ Dolly felt the tears prick her eyes.

‘And, do you love Granddad Bob?’

Surprised by his innocent question, Dolly felt embarrassed. She looked at the old man, at the bright, sincere eyes and that way he had of smiling right into your heart, and
she gave her answer.

‘How could I love you, and not love your granddad Bob?’ It was said light-heartedly, but she meant it, because something had happened to her here in this homely little place, with these two very special people. Something she did not yet understand. Something surprising, that brought a spring to her step and a warm blush to her heart. And that had not happened to her in a
very long time.

On arriving here, she had wanted to be quickly gone, yet now, the thought of leaving these two and going back to her lonely little house was a prospect she did not care to think about. But go she must, and soon.

The policeman was thorough as he questioned the neighbour in Henry Street. ‘And you say you heard rows and arguments, is that so, Mrs Kettle?’

‘Yes.
It was shocking. Look, I’ve already told you people how Mr Denton went after the boy, leaving Mrs Denton on the floor, yelling and screaming. Oh, and the language was awful!’

‘And you say she went out later on?’

‘She did, yes. Left the door wide open, she did, with nobody there to look after the house. When she’d gone, my husband went along and pulled the door to. Oh, and she looked a right
sorry mess as she flounced away down the street. No coat, and her hair uncombed. If you ask me, she wants locking away. The way she treats that boy, it’s a disgrace!’

‘What are you saying – that she beats him? Abuses him?’

‘I’m saying she screams at him. Oh, and she has men back to the house. We’ve seen them sneaking out the back door. Shameful, that’s what it is … shameful!’

‘So, when she
left, she didn’t by any chance say where she was going, did she?’

‘Not to us, no. Well, she wouldn’t, would she? I mean, we try not to have anything to do with her. Mind you, young Mr Denton is a different sort altogether. Nice man. Hard-working, and a positive angel to put up with her goings-on. My husband asked her if she was all right, but she just swore at him. I told him not to speak to
her. We all know what she’s like. Gives the street a bad name, she does.’

‘I see. And is there another neighbour who might know where she’s gone?’

She shook her head. ‘No. As far as I know, they don’t have any truck with her, and who can blame them?’

Before he satisfied himself that the Dentons’ house was secure, the officer reminded her, ‘If she returns, would you please ask Mrs Denton to
contact the police station? It’s very important.’

‘I see.’ Curiosity got the better of Sylvia. ‘Is it to do with her husband? Because he hasn’t come back, and nor has the boy. I expect they might be at Tom’s father’s house. The two of them often go round to see the old man. Happen she’s gone there to follow up on the row and cause even more aggravation. She’s never satisfied, that’s her trouble.’

‘Mrs Denton is not at her father-in-law’s house. We’ve been there. We’ve spoken to the boy, and also to Mr Denton senior. They haven’t seen or heard from her.’

‘So, what’s going on? Why are you searching for her? Huh! Don’t tell me she’s got herself into even more hot water?’

Avoiding her question, the officer tipped his hat. ‘Thanks for your help, and as I say, if she does turn up, do please
ask her to get in touch with the police station.’ With that he promptly left.

In no time at all, Mrs Kettle was inside, informing her husband of what had been said.

‘There’s summat strange going on,’ she told William. ‘They’re still looking for her. They’ve even been round to old Mr Denton’s, and from what I can make out, the boy is there with him, but there was no mention of either Tom or Ruth.
Strange, don’t you think?’

Her husband shook his head. ‘It’s nowt to do with us.’

He had his own suspicions about young Tom Denton’s whereabouts.

Earlier today, when he went to the pub for a pint, there was talk of a suicide last night on Mill Hill bridge. And though William hoped he was wrong, he still couldn’t help but wonder, especially as Tom Denton had not been seen since. And now the
police were desperate to get hold of his wife, who was probably in some stranger’s arms in a seedy little room at the back of some pub or other.

He felt a deal of sympathy for Tom Denton, because while he appeared to be unaware of his wife’s carrying-on, everyone else knew of her tainted reputation.