Three Letters (22 page)

He asked gently, for he knew it was awfully hard for Casey to forgive
her. ‘Will you try at least not to be cruel to her, like she’s been cruel to you? Yer know what they say: two wrongs don’t mek a right.’

Not altogether sure what was expected of him – Casey thought he might find it too hard to be kind to his mam, even if he wanted, but he gave a curt little nod all the same.

‘Aw, that’s champion, lad. Y’know, I reckon, when it comes right down to it, we’re all
of us different. Mebbe we should try and allow for that, eh?’ Yet even he found it hard to forgive Ruth’s behaviour.

Casey felt angry. He didn’t even want to see his mam any more, and he hoped with all his heart that she would not turn up at the church.

‘Casey?’ The old man could see the boy clenching and unclenching his knuckles. ‘Answer me, lad. If yer mammy turns up at the church, you won’t
let her see how angry you are … will yer?’

Casey took a moment to think. ‘All right, Granddad. If she’s friendly to me, I’ll try and be friendly back. But only because you and Daddy want me to.’ He was hopelessly mixed up inside. In his head he could still hear her calling him ‘liar’ and ‘little bastard’, yelling at his dad like a crazy thing. And whatever Granddad Bob said now, he still believed
that he must be partly to blame for everything that had happened.

The old man gave a rueful smile at the boy’s honest answer. ‘All right then, lad. So if she’s friendly, you’ll return the compliment. That’ll do me. At least for now.’

‘Now can I get the guitar?’

‘In a minute. There’s one other thing we need to talk about, an’ it’s to do with you in particular. After we’ve … what I mean is …’
It was so hard to say. ‘After the church … we’ve got to start thinking about getting you back to school.’

‘I don’t like school. I don’t ever want to go back there!’ These past few days, Casey had been content to stay at home with his granddad. ‘I don’t want to leave you. I hate school!’

‘No, you mustn’t say that, lad. School is where you learn things. It’s where you get the chance to prepare
for what you want to do, once you’re out there in the big wide world. Besides, I’m sure it won’t be long afore the authorities need to speak with the two of us … about you staying with me, and meking sure you go to school. Meantime, we’ll keep you off school for a few days after … well, until things ’ave settled a bit. Then I want to get back to as normal as possible, and that includes you going
to school.’ He added, ‘An’ who knows, yer might even get music lessons at school.’

‘They don’t do music lessons.’

‘Mebbe not, but they let you play your guitar in assembly so that’s a start. They might be thinking about proper music lessons. Just ask your teacher. Then we’ll see what happens, eh?’

‘I don’t want to go to school. I don’t like to leave you.’

‘Ah, well now, if you’re worried about
me being on my own, don’t give it a second thought.’

‘Why not?’

The old man gave a cheeky grin. ‘’Cause I’ll not be on my own. Y’see … your friend Dolly said she’ll come round regular an’ keep an eye on us.’ He winked naughtily. ‘To tell yer the truth, I reckon she fancies me.’

‘What?’ Casey gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘No, she doesn’t!’

‘Well, I reckon she does!’

‘Doesn’t!’

‘Does!’

Soon they were both laughing out loud, until inevitably the sombre mood of the day brought them down.

‘Well, then!’ Bob wisely changed the subject. ‘Yer asked if yer could fetch the guitar. So go on then, off yer go.’

As the boy ran to collect the broken guitar, the old man heaved a great sigh, Look after us, Lord, he prayed, ’cause me an’ the boy are a bit lost at the minute.

It was ten days since Tom was lost to them.

Having been quickly established that Tom Denton had taken his own life ‘while the balance of his mind was disturbed’, the coroner had given leave for the service to take place, and now everything was ready.

Unable to sleep, Bob had been up and down the stairs half the night; one minute seated in the scullery, thinking about things, and the next minute
looking in on the boy. Then he was tiptoeing away, unaware that Casey was every bit as wide awake as he was himself.

At eight thirty, after eventually snatching a few hours’ sleep, the two of them were seated at the small table in the back parlour, where Casey was toying with his boiled egg and toast.

‘Try and eat summat, lad,’ Bob urged. ‘There’s not much of you already, and if you don’t eat
you’ll end up skin and bone.’

‘I’m not hungry, Granddad.’

‘No, and neither am I, but if we don’t get summat down us, we might faint in the church, an’ we wouldn’t want that, would we, eh?’

‘I won’t “faint”’

‘Yer might … if yer don’t eat some o’ that egg yer fiddling with.’

To set an example, he dug his spoon into the top of his boiled egg and, drawing out a sizeable bite of yolk, he pushed
it into his mouth. ‘See that! Now, it’s your turn.’

So, just to please his granddad Bob, the boy did the same; although it took a huge effort for him to actually swallow the food.

An hour later the table had been cleared, and the two of them set about getting ready. The old man put on his one and only suit, a grey tweed effort, which had hung in the wardrobe since his dear wife had been laid
to her rest.

‘Does it look all right, lad?’ Going into the boy’s room, he stood by the door. ‘Do I look decent enough?’

The boy could not recall ever seeing his granddad Bob looking so formal, and so different that he could hardly recognise him.

No longer was he an old man with untidy grey whiskers, and a wild sprouting of hair. Instead, his whiskers were smartly trimmed, and his hair was combed
through, and his usual baggy brown trousers were replaced with a suit that fitted him, and even made his round tummy seem smaller.

Casey could not take his eyes off him. ‘You look …’ he couldn’t find a fitting word, ‘… you look … lovely, Granddad.’

The old man chuckled. ‘No, lad. That won’t do! What I need is to look smart. Do I look smart, that’s what I want to know?’ He drew in his tummy,
tightened his belt, straightened his tie and stood to attention. ‘Well?’

‘Yes, you look really … smart.’ Suddenly, Casey saw the telltale signs on the old man’s face. ‘Granddad?’

‘Yes, lad?’

‘Have you been crying again?’ He would never admit that he, too, had spent most of the night in tears, his head buried in the pillow.

‘What? No, o’ course I haven’t been crying.’

In truth he had hardly
stopped crying this past week or so. If it hadn’t been for the boy, and the lovely Dolly popping round at times, he might have followed his son in the self-same way, God forgive him for the thought.

‘Do I look smart as well, Granddad?’ Casey had on a tidy little jacket with three brass buttons up the front, and for the very first time in his young life he was wearing long trousers. Bought from
the second-hand shop on Montague Street, the trousers and jacket were dark blue, and fitted him perfectly.

‘Aw, lad, yer look grand. In them trousers you look more like a little man, than an eight-year-old. By, yer daddy would be that proud of yer.’

At his granddad’s encouraging words, Casey’s chest felt like it had grown another inch, he was that chuffed.

A short time later, the hearse arrived
to lead them to the church. Patrick Riley, a long-time friend of Bob’s, had offered to take him and his grandson to the church. So now, as the two climbed into Patrick’s old wagon, Patrick doffed his flat cap and gave his condolences.

‘All right, are yer, Bob?’

‘I’m fine, Patrick, thanks. Me an’ the boy are as fine as can be expected, under the circumstances.’ A moment later they were driving
behind the hearse and headed for the church.

With an ache in his heart and a strong arm about Casey, Bob thought it was a nightmare of a journey, especially for this wonderful boy, who was like a shivering little wreck beside him.

In his silent prayers, the old man vowed then and there that he would use the years he had left to guide and nurture his grandson, and bring out the God-given talent
he had been blessed with.

‘I’m frightened, Granddad.’ The boy’s voice trembled. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Yer don’t need to do anything, lad, except just hold onto me,’ Bob’s voice broke, ‘… and mebbe say a little prayer that your daddy is on his way to Heaven, and that when he gets there, he’ll be watching over us, just like he promised.’

His kindly words appeared to settle the child. When
they arrived, the priest was there to welcome them, and to offer his sincere condolence, as he had done on the two occasions when he had visited Bob’s house.

The church was full to bursting. As a kindly act of respect, many of Tom’s closer workmates had been given a brief respite from work, in order to witness his being laid to rest.

The old man was pleased to see a respectable number of neighbours
there, too. Many of them were just curious, though others did really care. All had been shocked at the terrible way in which old Bob had lost his only son and the boy, just eight years old, had lost his beloved daddy.

When everyone was seated, the priest began the service, although the old man and the boy hardly heard a word he was saying because their eyes were glued to the wooden box that held
their beloved son and father. Above that, the magnificent crucifix, with open arms and golden heart, appeared to be reaching down, embracing Tom, and then the boy alongside his granddad.

The kindly voice of the priest resonated to the high ceilings, touching the hearts of the mourners, and offering faith and love and trust in the ever after.

For one brief moment while they stood to sing, heads
bowed and thoughts heavy, the congregation remained silent. Then the organ struck up ‘All things bright and beautiful’, and the voices rang out.

It was a bitter-sweet beginning.

Outside, Ruth Denton made a solitary figure.

Without coat or hat, and wearing the same clothes as when she left Henry Street for the last time, she looked haggard and forlorn. Her once-shining and
well-groomed hair was piled up in a kind of bird’s nest, uncombed and unwashed.

Her handsome face, usually pampered, bore the marks of turmoil and sleepless nights spent in dark, damp alleyways. All the fight had gone from her.

Now, as the music and voices rang out, she nervously made her way to the partially open church door. She inched forward to peep through. Surprised to see so many people
there, she stood on tiptoe, searching for two figures in particular.

After a moment, her curious gaze alighted first on Tom’s father, who, though of an age when he was beginning to bend slightly at the spine, was still a man of some energy and stature.

Just then the old man turned his head. When he seemed to look towards the door, Ruth quickly dodged away.

After a while, when the music stopped
and the priest addressed the gathering, she dared to step forward and take another peep inside.

Like everyone else, she listened to the priest talking about Tom Denton, the family man; how he was known to be a hard-working and good man, who was loved and respected by those who knew him.

Moved by the words, Ruth listened, and when the priest was done and the people stood up to sing again, she
inched forward until, unnoticed and nervous, she tiptoed into the back of the church, being sure to stay in the shadows, while all her attention was fixed on the place where her husband lay.

She recalled the last time she and Tom had exchanged words, and the spiteful things she had said; especially when, in the heat of the moment, she had confessed that the boy was not his son. Now, she prayed
for his forgiveness in silence. Though it was true, she should never have taunted him with it.

She had seen the devastated look on Tom’s face, especially when she had lied and said Casey was the son of a stranger she had coupled with in a dark alley. She had felt his pain, and even then she could not find it in her to offer him a single crumb of comfort. From the moment the words had tumbled
from her mouth, she had wished she could have taken them back. But she couldn’t, and the guilt had crept up on her, until now she could hardly bear it.