Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  Saddened, she now kissed her fingertips, and placed the kiss on the man’s mouth. ‘I loved you then, and even though you deserted me, I still love you … fool that I am!’ Her heart was his and always would be, that was why she could never love Tom.

  The whisper of a smile crossed her features. There was no feeling of hatred. No more regrets. It was as though she had been burned out from the inside, and now she was empty. Only anger and a sense of self-destruction remained. The same self-destruction that had crippled her all these years. The same self-destruction that stopped her from loving, and took away her joy.

  Tearful now, she snatched up the photograph and tore it into the tiniest particles, until soon it was just a heap of rubbish on the bed.

  Collecting the shredded pile, along with the package and its contents, she carried them to the fireplace, where she placed them very carefully into the grate.

  Reaching for the box of matches on the mantelpiece, she then set fire to the items.

  Seated cross-legged on the rug, she watched the flames flicker and dance, and when the papers were reduced to ashes, she buried her head in her hands, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

  After a while, she clambered up and calmly made the bed and tidied round. That done, she went downstairs and satisfied herself that the house was presentable. Taking a notepad and pencil from the dresser, she wrote a letter for the next-door neighbour, asking that she might, please, ‘return these house keys to the landlord’.

  She then addressed an envelope to her neighbour Mrs Kettle, she then placed the note and keys inside, and sealed it.

  Another moment of quiet contemplation, then she went to stand at the door. Looking down that familiar street, she felt a pang of loneliness at leaving this place that had been her home for so long; but then some driving instinct urged her to leave quickly. She’d be lonelier still if she stayed.

  Momentarily closing her eyes, she gave a deep replenishing sigh. A few moments later, after dropping the envelope through her neighbour’s letter box, she took a moment to think about the enormity of what she was doing.

  With head held high, she then hurried away, leaving Henry Street behind for ever.

  She took no luggage, no mementoes, and not a single item of clothing or belongings. She left just as she had arrived some years ago: with empty pockets and an empty heart. The day of her wedding to Tom had been the start of what felt like a lifetime of punishment.

  Willingly, deliberately, she had committed one wicked act after another. First, she had employed every effort to end the pregnancy; then, when that was unsuccessful, she had trapped her man and foisted the unborn onto him. From then on, her whole life was a lie, and through it all, she felt no love for the boy or for her husband, nor did she feel any sense of guilt or regret. Instead, she felt used and lonely, and enraged with the circumstances that had brought her to this lonely, moment in time.

  These past eight years or so had been unbearable.

  Every day she was made to look at the boy and realise what she had lost. And every night she was made to lie in the arms of a man she did not love.

  Her life had been intolerable, but now, with Tom having taken his own life, she was free at last.

  As for the boy, she could only assume that he was with Tom’s father.

  Right now, she had no idea where she was headed. All she knew was that her life here was done. She must get far away from these parts. Away from the bad memories. Away from where it all went wrong, for her, and for Tom, and in many ways, for the boy.

  Next door, Mrs Kettle looked out of the window, the open letter clutched in her hand. Seeing Ruth linger a moment before heading off, she was sorely tempted to run out and ask where she was going, and had she heard anything more about her poor husband’s death.

  But she thought twice and decided it was not worth the aggravation she would get in return. Even at the best of times, she had thought Ruth Denton to be mentally unhinged.

  When for the briefest moment Ruth turned to look at her, she swiftly dodged back behind the curtain.

  Yes, of course she would give the landord the keys, as requested in the note. And she hoped that was the last she might see of Ruth Denton, although there would be less to complain about with her gone.

  All the same, she wouldn’t want Ruth Denton to discover she’d been spreading gossip about her, though she felt cheated that Ruth Denton had not found the common decency to confide in her about why she was handing in the keys, and where she was headed. And wasn’t it peculiar that she had neither bag nor portmanteau with her?

  Moreover, what about the furniture, which Tom Denton had worked hard to provide? And where was the boy?

  What had she done with the boy, who was never seen to enjoy a kiss or a cuddle, or even a kind word, from his mother? He was certainly not with her just now.

  If he wasn’t with her – and he was certainly not with his father – then he must be with his granddad Bob.

  Growing irritated she went off to get herself a cup of tea. If young Casey really were with his granddad Bob, then she’d be thankful for that much at least. Especially when, apart from his daddy, that darling old man is probably the only person who had ever really loved him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WHERE IS SHE then?’ Casey blamed himself. ‘Has she run away? Was it my fault?’

  ‘No, lad. If she has run away – and we don’t know that for sure – then it wouldn’t be your fault, or anyone else’s. Yer mam has a mind of ’er own, we all know that.’

  ‘But when we went round to give her Daddy’s letter, Mrs Kettle said that Mam gave her the keys, and asked her to give them to the landlord. That means she’s not coming back.’ The tears welled up in Casey’s eyes. ‘It’s all my fault. I made her mad, and then Daddy got angry, and now she’s run away, and Daddy’s … Daddy’s …’ Choked with emotion, he threw his arms around Bob’s neck. ‘It is my fault! It is!’

  ‘No, lad, it isn’t.’ Holding the boy for a moment, he then eased him away to look him in the eye. ‘You believe your old granddad, don’t yer?’

  Casey nodded, his face lined with grief.

  ‘So, if I tell you that it isn’t your fault – that it’s nobody’s fault – then you really should believe me … isn’t that right?’

  Again, the boy nodded, his voice trembling as he asked, ‘Why’s she gone away then?’ He recalled his father’s letter, and how he had asked him to ‘forgive’. But he didn’t know how to. All he knew was that both his parents had gone away, leaving him and Granddad all alone.

  The old man was saddened by the boy’s suffering. ‘Look! I’ll be honest with you, lad. I truly don’t know why your mam’s gone away, and I certainly don’t know why she’s handed in her house keys. Mebbe she just needs to get away and think about things.’

  The old man had been haunted by the very same questions, and now his voice was almost inaudible, almost as though he was speaking to himself. ‘Mebbe she can’t handle what’s happened. Who can get inside anybody else’s head and know what they’re thinking, eh?’

  It was painfully obvious to him that Ruth Denton had no intention of returning to the house on Henry Street.

  He turned the boy to face him again. ‘Casey?’

  ‘Yes, Granddad?’

  ‘I want you to promise me that you’ll stop thinking any of this is your fault, because it really isn’t.’

  When the child gave no answer, he gave him a gentle shake. ‘Casey! Do yer understand what I’m saying?’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘It’s not your fault, and it isn’t anybody else’s fault either. Whether we like it or not, folks will do what they mean to do, and nobody ever knows the real truth of it. D’yer see what I’m telling yer, lad?’

  ‘Yes, Granddad.’

  For a moment or so, the old man held his grandson close. ‘It’s just me an’ you now, lad. So we need to look after each other, don’t we, eh? We need to help each other through these next few days especially, ’c
ause it’s gonna be real hard to go to that church and say goodbye to yer daddy. I reckon it’ll be one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do.’

  When he felt the tears rising, he decided it was time to change the subject and try something new. ‘Hey, d’yer know what I reckon, lad?’

  ‘What, Granddad?’ Casey could sense a new determination about the old man, and it was comforting.

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking we should tek a look at that guitar, see if it’s repairable. What d’yer say?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please, Granddad!’ The boy’s eyes it up. ‘Daddy would like that. He was really sad when Mam broke it …’

  ‘Aye, well. Let’s not think too much about the bad things. Let’s just think right now about what yer dad would want us to do.’ He gave a wag of his finger. ‘Mind you, if you do happen to think about the bad things, I don’t want you to think about ’em on yer own. You an’ me can talk, and sometimes when yer talk, it does help, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Granddad. Thank you.’ Casey thought his granddad was very special. Whenever he was around, it felt safe, as though nobody in the whole wide world could ever hurt them again.

  ‘Aw, lad …’ The child’s open gratitude caught the old man in the heart. ‘There’s no need to thank me. I only want to help … like you want to help me when I’m sad. ’Cause when all’s said an’ done, you really are all I’ve got left now.’

  ‘I know, Granddad, and you’re all I’ve got left, and I love you lots.’ He smiled eagerly. ‘Please, Granddad … can I fetch the guitar now?’

  ‘Aye, but there’s summat else we need to get clear first. Then we’ll set about that guitar.’

  The boy listened while the old man tried to prepare him for the ordeal in the next couple of days.

  ‘When we go into that church, we’ll be together, you and me. There’ll no doubt be some of yer dad’s workmates and a smattering of good neighbours, an’ happen yer mam might even turn up. If she does, we’ll be kind to ’er, won’t we?’ He recalled what Tom had said in his letter, and it had touched a chord with him.

  When the boy gave no answer he went on, ‘If she does turn up, we’ll ask what her plans are, and whether you and me have any place in them. And we’ll do what yer daddy asked, and try to forget about all the rows and the cruel words spoken in the heat of the moment … Casey, lad?’

  When the boy still remained silent, Bob persisted, ‘I know it will be hard, lad. But if yer mam turns up, we should try and be kind to her like yer daddy would want. Oh, I know she can be a bad ’un, and I know she lashes out for no reason, and whatever punishment she might get, it would serve her right. But we mustn’t forget she’s your mammy after all, and she’s been hurt as well. She’s lost her husband, just like you’ve lost your daddy, and while you’ve got me, she has to start her life all over again, on her own. Oh, I know that’s mebbe what she wants, but we really should try and be a bit easy on her … if we can.’

  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.