‘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.
For all that, she still carried a deep and crippling bitterness inside her. After all these years, the need to hit out and harm others seemed stronger than ever. Yet the only people that she could punish were the two who truly loved her.
Now, after all her ambitions for the future, and because of hopes and dreams long gone, she was left with nothing. No family. No home. No self-respect. Yet though she missed the security of being taken care of, she knew it was right to leave. She had punished Tom and the boy too much, and now she was paying the price.
Steve Bates had done that to her; the man she had trusted and loved with every fibre of her being. But he was gone for ever, and she was left with a burden that at times drove her to the point of madness.
Her curious gaze wandered back to her son.
Whenever she looked at him, like now, she did not see Casey, the innocent boy. Instead, she saw his true father: the same strong features; the same deepest brown eyes.
She had loved that man so very much. She had given her heart and soul to him, and he had destroyed her without a shred of conscience. Then he went away and she never saw him again.
She had tried so hard to forget him, but each time she looked at the boy, the father was there, taunting her, making her remember. When his name came into her mind now, she tried to push it away, but like the memories, it clung to her. ‘Steve …’ she murmured his name. For one fleeting moment she felt a need to search him out, but where would she even begin to look? And if she found him, what then?
Suddenly, for the first time, she felt a kinship with Tom and Casey. Now, as she looked on that small, frightened face, she had an overriding urge to go to him, to assure him that everything would be all right; that she and his granddad would look after him … that she would even try her very best to love him.
But with that thought, her heart grew cold again. No, she could never love him. It would be a lie, and there had been enough lies already. Lies about loving, and keeping, and caring for the one you believed would be there for ever. So many cruel lies. So much pain. And a callous betrayal that she would never forgive.
Just a short distance away from his mother, Casey could not rest. With everyone listening to the priest closing the service, he felt someone watching him. He wondered, just for a moment, whether it might be his daddy. Like his letter said, ‘When you’re worried … the softest rush of sound … will be me … to encourage and help you.’ The words were emblazoned on his heart.
Instinctively, he turned, and she was there looking straight at him. At first, he hardly recognised her because of her wild hair and unkempt appearance.
When she realised he’d seen her, she dodged back outside, and disappeared from sight.
Casey was about to tell his granddad that his mam was here, but the moment was lost when suddenly everyone stood up to walk slowly down the aisle and on towards the
door. When his granddad took hold of his hand, he went with him, his eyes peeled to catch sight of his mother. But she was already gone.
Outside, they followed the procession across the path and onto the grass, and when Granddad looked down to him, Casey told him excitedly, ‘She was here. Mam was here!’
The old man glanced about, trying to catch sight of Ruth. He looked down the path to the gate, then across to the church porch, but there was no sign of her and, head bowed, he concentrated on the priest’s closing prayer.
A few moments later, it was all over. The mourners lined up to shake the old man by the hand. ‘You’ve still got a part of your son in that little lad,’ they assured him, and Bob knew he was lucky in that respect.
They smiled on the boy, and promised, ‘Your granddad will take good care of you.’ Knowing it was true, Casey was content enough, though he sorely missed his daddy. Far too much for anyone to understand except maybe Granddad Bob.
When everyone else was gone, the old man and the boy remained, a sorry pair, deeply unhappy and wishing this day had never been. Still holding hands, they turned away from the grave, and the bond between them grew even stronger.
As they walked down the flagged path and on towards Patrick Riley’s wagon, Bob asked, ‘Was she really here, lad? Yer mam … did you honestly see ’er?’ He had hoped she might be there, but if she really had come to see her husband laid to rest, why had she not willingly shown herself to him and the boy?
Yet again he glanced about, but he could see no sign of her, or even anyone closely resembling her. In the end, he was made to wonder if the boy might have imagined her.
From behind some beech trees, Ruth watched them make their way down to the wagon. In all her life, she had never felt so alone; except maybe once, but that was a long time ago, and not even worth remembering.
Going to stay with Tom’s father had crossed her mind, but had been swiftly dismissed. It was not the answer, and anyway, she felt no kinship or affection of any kind for him. She had to survive and come to terms with the trauma of being left on her own. Yet again. Just like the other time, only that was worse, because then it was just her. There was no husband, no father-in-law, and at that time she had not yet learned that she was already with child.
And now, here she was again, made to start over, and no idea which way to go. She knew the old man would not turn her away. She only had to ask and he would give her a place in his home. But she did not want that.
There was too much water under the bridge; too many bad memories to resolve. It would take a long time, maybe for ever, before she could ever become part of a loving family.
She shivered at the idea that one day she might be expected to take responsibility for her son. She did not want the boy. She would never want him.
At the van, Casey turned and saw her watching them. ‘She’s there, Granddad. Look!’
But by the time the old man looked up, she was gone.
‘She was there, Granddad!’ The child was adamant. ‘She really was!’
Bob believed him. ‘Here, lad!’ Taking Tom’s letter addressed to Ruth from his jacket pocket, he handed it to the boy. ‘This path down to the gate is the only way out, so she can’t be too far away. Go after her; give her this. Tell her, it’s for her, and it’s a letter from your daddy. Hurry, lad. HURRY!’
The boy ran as fast as his legs could take him, up the path and through the shrubbery, but there was no sign of his mother. He looked back at his granddad, and slowly shook his head.
When the old man gestured towards the church, Casey understood and ran to the church door. He was about to go inside, when his attention was drawn to the place where his daddy was laid. At first, all he could see were the two men already shifting the earth and replacing the many flowers.
And then he saw his mother, standing a little way off, looking tearful and sad as she watched the men go about their work.
For a moment, Casey was upset by what the workmen were doing. He wanted to go to them and tell them to stop. It wasn’t right. They should not be moving things about and trampling over his daddy’s place. It was not right! He needed someone to hold him and, almost without realising it, he ran to his mammy, startling her as he threw his arms round her middle. He held on, his tears covered by the folds of her dress.
She did not push him away. Instead, for that one, precious moment, she held on to him. Soon, though, she eased him away, telling him coldly, ‘Go back to your granddad.’
Casey shook his head. ‘Please, Mam, I’m sorry if I upset you before. Please … come back with me and Granddad Bob?’
Affected by his tear-stained face, she began to retreat. ‘I’m not coming back, Casey. I am never coming back!’
As she prepared to brush past him, the boy handed her the letter. ‘Granddad said I have to give you this. It’s from … it’s—’
She glanced at the handwriting, and she did not need telling. ‘I can see who it’s from, and I don’t want it. Take it back to your granddad. Tell him, I want nothing from any of you!’
Her harsh words cut through the boy’s hopes, making him angry. ‘You have to have it! It’s for you … from Daddy. YOU’RE WICKED … AND I HATE YOU!’ Sobbing, he turned away; then he was fighting and struggling as she took hold of his shoulder relenting her words before.
‘All right, give me the letter. I’ll read it, I promise.’
Subdued by her promise, Casey handed her the letter. ‘Please, Mam, please, come back with me and Granddad,’ he asked again. ‘He wants you to, I know he does.’
Having already said more than she was comfortable with, Ruth shook her head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got things to do, so leave me the letter and go back to your granddad. Go on! Don’t keep him waiting.’
‘Can I fetch Granddad here? He wants to talk to you. He won’t be angry, he really won’t. So, can I fetch him?’
Against her instincts, she found herself caught in an emotional trap. ‘All right then, just for a minute, but I mean it: I’m not coming back with you. As long as you both understand that, then, yes, fetch him.’
Jubilant, the boy ran to get his granddad. ‘She says she wants to see you,’ he yelled as he ran down the path. ‘Quick, Granddad! Mam says you can come and talk to her.’
The old man hoped this might be the start of a reunion between Ruth and her son. It’s what Tom would have wanted. ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ he told Patrick Riley. ‘Can you hang on for us?’
‘Course I can. Tek as long as yer like, mate.’ Patrick drew his newspaper from between the seats. ‘Meantime, it’ll give me a chance to choose the winner in the two thirty.’
The old man and the boy hurried up the path, each excited, and hoping the badness was at an end. But when they got to the place where she’d been, there was no sight of Ruth. ‘She’s gone!’ Tugging at the old man’s hand, Casey yelled for his mammy. ‘COME BACK … YOU PROMISED!’ He was frantic. ‘She’s left us, Granddad. She’s gone!’
Bob shook his head in disgust. ‘Let her go, lad. She’s not worth yer tears.’
His heart breaking, Casey walked away with his granddad. Twice he glanced back to see what the men were doing. He so wanted everything to be as it was; even the rows, and his mammy yelling all the time. At least he was not alone then. But now, even with his darling granddad holding his hand, he felt so alone, and it was frightening.
In that moment, because she had not wanted his daddy’s letter, and because she didn’t want him either, the boy made himself believe that he never wanted to see his mam again; not for as long as he lived.
As they climbed into the wagon and sat, silent and upset throughout the journey, Patrick Riley was also upset.
He had witnessed the entire episode and, as a father himself, he could not believe the extent of that woman’s wickedness.
Ruth remained out of sight until the van was gone. She then came out of her hiding place and made her way back to the churchyard.
For a long time, she stood at the foot of Tom’
s grave, her eyes glued on the wooden identity cross placed there by the workmen; until a permanent structure could be laid.
The inscription told Tom’s name and the length of his life; which was pitifully short.
For a while, she stood there, looking down, trying to imagine what he must have thought of her at the end.
‘I never thought you would do such a terrible thing,’ she chided angrily. ‘You took the coward’s way out. You left me and then you couldn’t face the shame.’
She held out the letter. ‘I don’t have to read this because I can imagine what you’ve said – that I’m a trollop, and you’d be right. That I’m a no-good mother, and you’d be right again. You’ve probably slated me for making you believe that you had a son, when all the time he belonged to another man. You have every right to slate me. But I was desperate, and I know you had long fancied me. I had no money, and no one to help me, so I grabbed the opportunity. You were so crazy about me, you never even questioned when I told you the baby was born early.’
She laughed out loud. ‘You were so besotted, you would have believed anything I told you … anything! You were a fool, Tom Denton, and I used you. But you never once found me out. You were too stupid, so blind you couldn’t even see what was right in front of you.’
Having held her emotions back since leaving Henry Street, Ruth now sobbed bitterly, quietly at first, then as though her heart would break. She told him tenderly, ‘You were a good man all the same, Tom Denton. You did not deserve me, but I’m what you got, and I could have searched the world over and not found a man who loved me as much as you did. I tried to love you back, I really did, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, too, about the boy, because he reminded me of something that I needed to forget. Like it or not, I was forced to see him, every day and night for all those years. And because I couldn’t bring myself to love him, I made myself hate him.’
Three Letters Page 17
