Three Letters (2 page)

‘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?’