Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  ‘What are you talking about? I gave you the address and you’ve got here, haven’t you – late as usual?’

  ‘Don’t you blame me, Bob Denton! Sure, it’s a wonder I’m here at all. I’ve been up hill and down dale looking for you. Why didn’t you tell me it was Henry Street I wanted?’

  Clambering out of the wagon, he stood, hands on hips, his flat cap askew, and a grimace on his face that was more comical than threatening. ‘I had to ask all over the place before I got it right, so I did.’

  ‘Patrick, yer a damned idiot.’ Standing toe to toe with his mate, the old man wagged a finger at him. ‘I said to come to Henry Street, so how did you go wrong?’

  ‘It were you that got it wrong. You told me to go to Emily Street. You said nothing at all about Henry Street.’ Taking out a grubby hanky from his pocket, the little man blew his nose. ‘I went up an’ down and all around, and couldn’t find Emily Street nowhere. I must ’a asked a hundred people – “Do you know where Emily Street is?” I said. And they told me they had no idea. Then somebody said there was a Henry Street, and here I am. So y’see, I’m not as daft as you make me out.’

  ‘All I can say is, you must be deaf as well as daft. Anyway, I thought you knew where my son lived?’

  ‘Don’t gimme that!’ With the back of his hand Patrick wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. ‘How the divil am I supposed to remember where your son lives? I don’t even know where my own son lives. Since the idle bugger moved out, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him.’

  ‘Forget all that, Patrick. We’d best get started, or the landlord will be here for his pickings.’

  Bob ushered him inside. ‘I hope you’ve cleared all that rubbish outta yer wagon, ’cause there’ll be quite a big load to tek down the second-hand shop.’

  ‘A big load, y’say?’ The little man was nervous. ‘So, how much stuff will there be, d’you reckon?’

  The anxious manner in which Patrick asked the question made the old man curious. ‘You sound worried. Why’s that, I wonder. Oh, Patrick! Don’t tell me you’ve not cleared out the back of yer wagon, like I asked?’

  ‘No! Well … I didn’t take it all out. Sure I’ve a few things to take to the second-hand shop meself. I thought it were a good opportunity, what with you already going there, an’ all.’

  ‘I knew it! I should have realised it could never run smoothly … not where Patrick Riley’s involved.’

  ‘Hey, you two! What’s all the noise? You woke my ’usband, with yer goings-on!’ The neighbour was up in arms.

  Patrick shouted back, ‘It’s all right, missus … you go back inside. Tell your old fella he’s no need to worry, ’cause me an’ this fine gent are dealing with it!’

  With an angry toss of her head, she told him in no uncertain terms, ‘He will not be pleased! I’ll have you know … he’s not been well these past few days.’

  ‘Ah, well then! You’ll need to drag the poor ol’ thing back into bed, so ye will! Get into your prettiest nightie an’ put a smile on his face, why don’t you?’ Smiling broadly, Patrick gave a naughty wink, which left her in no doubt as to what he meant.

  ‘Oh! You filthy beast!’ With a toss of her hairnet and a wicked gleam in her eye, Mrs Kettle slammed shut the door and went at a run down the passageway, trying to remember where she last put away her ‘prettiest nightie’.

  The two men were still arguing when Dolly and Casey arrived.

  ‘Hey!’ Dolly quickened her steps to the back parlour. ‘Instead of arguing and shouting at each other, why don’t you both go and see how much room there is in the back of the wagon, and while you’re there, give it a tidy-up?’ Having taken a peek inside the wagon, she realised they would have to be inventive in order to fit in the stuff from the house. ‘You’ll be surprised at how much room you might create when you put your back to it. Oh, and if you want another two pairs of hands, me and Casey can help …’

  ‘No!’ Bob put a stop to that straight off. ‘Whatever needs tekking out to the wagon, me and Patrick will see to that. As for you and Casey, well, there’s more than enough for the two of you to be getting on with.’

  ‘Such as?’ Dolly liked things to be clear. That way she could not be blamed if it went wrong.

  ‘Well, let’s see. For starters, all the cupboards an’ wardrobes need emptying, so’s we can see what we’re dealing with. Then there’s the carpets to be rolled up; curtains to come down and be folded. Anything hanging on the walls needs tekking down, and any food in the scullery that’s not gone off we’ll tek back with us. Oh, and—’

  ‘Stop!’ Dolly was out of breath just listening. ‘That’ll do to be getting on with. You and Patrick can get on with your work, while me and Casey get on with ours. Right?’

  Stopped in his tracks, the old man was filled with admiration. ‘Sounds to me like yer more than capable, so I’ll leave you to it.’ He glanced at Casey. ‘See if yer can find them papers and such, lad, while me an’ Patrick check the back of his wagon. Mind you, it wouldn’t surprise me if it weren’t still packed floor to ceiling with his old rubbish …’

  ‘Hey, you ol’ divil! Stop showing me up in front o’ the lovely lady, or I might tell her a tale or two about yourself!’ Suffering a headache got from a night on the town, and now with a bad start to the day, Patrick was feeling a bit precious. ‘D’you want my help, or don’t you?’

  ‘Well, o’ course, or I would never have asked you, would I?’

  ‘Right then, so let’s get on with it!’

  ‘That’s fine by me, my old friend. I’ve been too long on tenterhooks waiting here for you. And now that you’ve managed to find me, it seems all yer after is to start an argument.’

  ‘Start an argument? Don’t talk outta your hat, Bob Denton. If I wanted an argument, sure I wouldn’t be pussyfooting about, I can tell ye that much. So, what is it to be then? Are we working, or arguing?’ Puffing out his chest, he visibly bristled.

  Sensing Patrick’s mood, Bob backed off. He’d seen the little Irishman start an argument on less than the exchange of words the two of them had so far enjoyed. ‘That’s enough of the fighting talk, Patrick. Especially when we should be working.’

  ‘Get a move on then, matey. It’s time we climbed into the back o’ the wagon so’s ye can see if there’s anything lurking there that shouldn’t be.’

  As it happened, there were several big cardboard boxes in the back of the wagon. A few were bulky and a few were empty, and others were strewn about with their contents trailing out.

  ‘We can fill the empty ones with curtains and smaller stuff.’ The old man was feeling more optimistic. ‘Then we need to sort the others out.’

  He was not best pleased to find that two of the boxes were so heavy it took a lot of pushing and shoving to get them into the corner.

  ‘What ’ave yer got in them boxes, Patrick, the crown jewels?’

  Tapping the side of his nose, Patrick gave a cheeky wink. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’

  ‘Why is everything thrown about?’ Bob asked. ‘Why haven’t you kept it all in one place?’

  ‘Ah, well now, that’s your fault, so it is! It were you that told me to go to Emily Street, when all the time I should ’a been going to Henry Street. It’s thanks to you that I got stuck down a ginnel. I had to bump along in reverse for half a mile, so I did. Me mirror got broken on the wall, then I took a wrong turn, ended up on a demolition site, and it were a nightmare; crashing over brickbats and piles o’ rubble. Then the boxes fell over, and some of the contents rolled out.’ He gave an almighty sigh. ‘Jeez! It’s a wonder I got away wit me life, so it is!’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ Bob tried not to chuckle, but he couldn’t help himself. He roared with laughter, as did Patrick.

  ‘Did you send me to Emily Street on purpose, you old sod?’

  ‘I never sent you to Emily Street in the first place.’

  ‘Well, then, it must ’a been my mistake. But it’s got me so I don’t kno
w where I am. What is this place? Where are we now?’ He glared about with a gormless expresssion.

  ‘Don’t act daft. We haven’t got time to play games.’ The old man was used to Patrick’s warped sense of humour, especially after a late night out with his drinking pals. ‘We need to get the stuff tidied, then fetch the other stuff outta the house and into the wagon. When it’s all out, we’ll get it back to Addison Street. It’ll not be as big a load as I feared, ’cause the landlord took a claim on the double bed and two armchairs.’

  Emotions set in and his voice fell to a whisper. ‘Our Tom worked hard for what he put into this house, and now he’s gone to his maker, and his wife’s took herself off. Gone to Hell, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘What’s that y’say? Speak up, man.’ Patrick hated it when folks grumbled under their breath. ‘Me hearing isn’t what it used to be.’

  The old man smiled. ‘Ah, well, there yer go then. That’s the reason you went to Emily Street instead o’ Henry Street.’

  ‘Don’t try wriggling out of what you did.’ The little Irishman stuck to his story. ‘Twas you that sent me to Emily Street, and that’s God’s truth, so it is.’

  ‘If you say so, but I know different.’ Weighed down by other worries, the old fella scratched the back of his neck. ‘To tell you the truth, Patrick, I’m not right sure what to do with all this stuff. Even with the landlord claiming a few items o’ furniture, that still leaves a sizeable load to go somewhere. It’ll be hard to fit it all into my little house. As it is, we haven’t got room to swing a cat. To tell you the truth, Patrick, I’m not really sure what I should do with it all.’

  ‘Sell it!’ Patrick advised him. ‘That’s the best way, if ye ask me. Instead o’ storing the stuff, why don’t you just sell everything, and put the money aside for when Ruth comes back?’

  ‘That’s a bad idea. How can I sell stuff that isn’t mine? That’s tantamount to stealing, and what would Ruth say if she came back to find everything gone?’

  ‘Ah, sure, she might never come back at all, have you thought of that? And besides, if she does come back, I’m sure she’d prefer to have the money and buy new stuff, rather than be presented with dust-ridden furniture that might not be worth tuppence. Whereas, if you sold it now, and put the money into the bank, that money could well grow into a little pot worth having.’ Patrick felt very proud of himself. ‘See, there! I’m not so daft as ye tink I am.’

  ‘I’m not doing it, Patrick. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.’

  ‘Hmm! Well, if it were me, I’d sleep better than I would if my house was chock-a-block with a lot of old stuff that didn’t belong to me. Especially if nobody came to claim it, and so it’s left there for ever.’

  ‘Look, Patrick, I’m not altogether dismissing your idea. It’s just, well, I wouldn’t feel comfortable selling off what belongs to my son’s wife; however unreliable and ungrateful she might be.’ Though in truth Bob was tempted to do what his old friend suggested. It made a lot of sense.

  Patrick wanted to get the job done and be off home. ‘We’ll sort the stuff and cart it off. As to where we’re carting it, I’ll leave that to you, my old friend.’

  ‘You’re right, Patrick. We should just get it on the cart and then decide what to do, though right now we’d best head for Addiston Street.’

  He was still thinking of what Patrick had suggested. Maybe selling the stuff and keeping the money safe was the best idea after all.

  Either way, he had a few hours to think about it.

  While the two men packed the boxes at one end of the wagon, Dolly and Casey made a start on the upstairs. They emptied all the cupboards and wardrobes in all three bedrooms, and filled some of the bags and boxes that Granddad Bob and Patrick brought up.

  After a couple of hours’ working, all four of them were ready for a break. ‘Luckily, they haven’t yet switched off the electric, so if you’ll kindly do the honours, Dolly, we might all enjoy a nice cup of tea together?’ Bob suggested.

  Dolly soon had the tea made, and, seated at the table, Bob had another quick perusal of the paperwork Casey had found.

  ‘It’s clear enough,’ he reported as they sipped at their tea. ‘From what’s written here, the landlord has every right to claim the double bed and two armchairs, seeing as they were already in the house when Tom and Ruth moved in.’ He pointed to an entry made in Tom’s own hand. ‘Our Tom’s got it all written down here, God rest his soul.’ And the two men made the sign of the cross on themselves, while Dolly and the boy momentarily hung their heads.

  After pausing a moment to compose himself, the old fella went on, ‘As far as I can tell, everything apart from what the landlord claims, belonged to Tom and Ruth.’

  ‘But they’re not here, are they?’ Patrick was taking it all in as best he could.

  ‘That’s very true, me old friend, so as yer can understand, it’s giving me a real headache, trying to work out what’s best to do.’

  ‘Well, I’ve given ye my opinion, so I have,’ Patrick reminded him. ‘Sometimes in situations like this, others can see what’s right and what’s wrong, where your emotions might get in the way of doing the right thing.’

  The old man nodded. ‘That might be true, Patrick, my old friend. Ralph, the pub landlord, said more or less the same thing. He came to deliver his condolence over our Tom and, what with him being a successful businessman, I asked his advice. He said much the same as Patrick: that I should sell everything and put the money away safely for the day when Ruth and Casey might need it.’ He went on in serious tone, ‘He reminded me not to do anything in a hurry, though. He pointed out that with family belongings, and especially with the situation I find myself in, I might need to see a solicitor.’

  ‘Well, maybe he was right, Bob.’ Dolly had been of the same mind, but chose not to say anything, considering she had not known Bob long enough to give advice.

  ‘Mebbe, but solicitors cost a fortune, and I don’t have a fortune. Like I told Ralph, as Tom’s father, I think I’d know more about what our Tom would have wanted than any stranger would, solicitor or not. I believe I’m the only one who can decide what’s right, for the boy and his mam.’

  Dolly was spurred into speaking her mind. ‘You’re right. I felt the very same after I lost my husband. I did what I knew he would want me to do. I sold what I didn’t need and got myself a few pounds in the bank for a rainy day. If you go to a solicitor, they only look out for themselves. They don’t know us, and they don’t know what’s best for the family. They just look at the cold, hard facts and charge you the earth for telling you what you already know. I think you should do what you think best for your son’s wife, and your grandson.’

  Bob fell silent for a while. When he spoke again, it was to inform the gathering: ‘As it happens, my own first thoughts were to sell everything off and divide it up in the only fair way I know how. In fact I even wrote it down.’

  He took the list from his pocket and read it out. ‘First, all of Tom’s personal stuff should be put aside and kept safe for Casey when he gets older; or for Ruth if she ever comes back. Secondly – unless, of course, Casey had any objections – I would sell everything else for the best price possible. Then, with the money I got, I thought I should do three things. Our Tom had no insurance of any kind, ’cause he couldn’t afford it. Therefore, we would need to use some of the money for a memorial stone, to be placed over his resting place. It won’t be expensive, just simple and proud.’

  With heavy heart, he continued, ‘Tom’s wife must have her half of the money put safely away to hand to her the minute she might return. If she hasn’t returned by the time our Casey is eighteen, it will naturally go to him. That’s my thinking anyway. Then I thought – after our Tom’s memorial stone was got, and Ruth’s share of money is put away – we pay to get our Tom’s guitar mended. That would then go to Casey, as I’m sure our Tom would have wanted.’

  Feeling emotionally exhausted, Bob finished, ‘As for what’s left, I intend put
ting that aside for Casey, for when he’s older. So, altogether, Ruth would get her half, then, apart from the memorial stone and paying for the guitar repair, our Tom’s half would be safely put away for his son. I hope you think I’ve done the right thing by everyone.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘So, what’s yer opinion? Is that a good plan or not?’

  To his great relief, they each supported his plan.

  ‘It’s a really good plan, Granddad,’ said Casey. ‘Only I don’t want anything. I want you to have it. I’ll just be happy to have Daddy’s guitar fixed.’

  The old man was insistent. ‘I’m doing what yer dad would have wanted, and that’s to mek sure you’ve got summat in the bank for a rainy day.’

  Dolly was close to tears as she gave her opinion. ‘I think you’ve done right by everyone. It’s well thought out and fair, especially to your daughter-in-law, what with her having left you and her son behind.’

  ‘So, d’yer think our Tom would have approved?’

  ‘I’m sure he would. And I’m sure no one could have done any better.’

  ‘I never knew you had such a clever head on them shoulders,’ Patrick said. ‘As for me, I will never have that problem. That’s because I haven’t a penny to spare, nor a pair o’ Sunday shoes to leave behind when I’m gone. I pay the rent, and I live from day to day, earning a bob or two where and when I can. Sure the only thing I own is meself.’

  Puffing out his chest, he told them, ‘What ye see is what ye get. Patrick Riley’s the name, an’ he’s a poor man without roots, so he is! He works with a clapped-out wagon, and he struggles through from day to day. He answers to nobody, and he’s got no time for fools. Moreover, he doesn’t give a tinker’s cuss who knows it!’

  ‘Well, thank you for that, Patrick,’ the old man chuckled. ‘And thank you all for your support.’

  Bob was greatly relieved that at least this part of the proceedings was sorted.