Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  Being of staunch character and afraid of nothing and no one, she bore the carriage and confidence of a woman who knew her way about. Looking to be in her mid-fifties, she would never admit her real age.

  She made a striking figure, with her masses of wild red hair and plump but shapely figure. Vaguely visible in the flickering light of the streetlamp, she looked a handsome woman, though some would say she made herself up like a tart, with her thick eye-liner and luminous pink lipstick, and her long fingernails coated in vivid purple polish.

  Yet she was a kindly soul, if a little brutish of manner.

  Steve thanked her for being concerned. ‘Two ruffians tried to carry this poor woman into the alley,’ he explained. ‘I was all for calling the police, but the young lady insisted I shouldn’t. She just wanted to get home, and so here she is. I hope you can persuade her to inform the police,’ he added worriedly. ‘Those scoundrels should not be allowed to get away with what they did.’

  ‘Good-for-nothing cowards, that’s what they are!’ Concerned, she took a closer look at Ruth. ‘You look a bit ruffled, I must say, but at least you had a lucky escape. Come on, luv, let’s get you inside.’

  Questions played on her mind. How and why did the man come to bring her here? And why should he think this was her home? Also, whatever was she doing, alone in the backstreets at this godforsaken hour. She seemed an attractive young woman despite her lowly appearance.

  Relieved when the woman took charge, Ruth was only too willing to let her lead her up the steps and through the front door. ‘I’m worried they might come after me again,’ she said nervously. ‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life.’

  ‘If they come anywhere near us, it’ll be the biggest mistake they’ve ever made!’ the landlady promised. ‘Let them try it, and they’ll be off down the alley like a pair o’ scalded cats. I know how to look after myself. Me and my yard broom are a match for them cowards any day!’

  Never one to turn away the needy, she opened her arms to Ruth. ‘You look all shaken up, lass. Come on, I’ll make us a hot drink, while you call the police.’ She noticed that Ruth was not carrying any belongings. ‘Took your things as well, did they? Thieving swines! Careful now, I’ve got you.’

  Immensely grateful for their help, Ruth was thankful that this larger-than-life character had unintentionally given Steve the impression that she was actually living here, exactly as she had wanted him to believe.

  Turning to Steve, she thanked him again. ‘I’ll be fine now.’ Discreetly blocking the doorway, she made it difficult for Steve to follow, and even now, she did not look up at him. Instead, she kept her face averted. All she wanted was for him to go away because if he looked at her through honest eyes he might see what she really was: a woman from the streets; a woman without home, or pride.

  Even now, though plagued with guilt, she was not yet ready to fully admit being the instigator of her own downfall, along with a good man’s untimely end, and the abandoning of an innocent boy.

  All these years she’d believed herself to be strong, only to discover now that she was pitifully weak and astonishingly gullible. What she had once seen as her strength she now saw as blatant arrogance.

  Those two low-lifes had obviously seen her for what she was, curled up in that doorway. They had seen a tramp, a hussy, a woman of the streets to be used for men’s pleasure. And it was true. She was all of those things, and more.

  Even when she’d had a good and decent man looking after her, she couldn’t help but behave like a hussy; bedding one man after another; often strangers, and all the time trying to recover something special, something she had lost long ago.

  For years, she had expected everything and given nothing back. And now, she was amazed at the kindness she had received this night, from complete strangers.

  This man had put his own life in danger to rescue her from what would certainly have been a terrible ordeal. And this big-hearted woman had rushed out to help her, opening her arms and her house to her. Ruth had never known such kindness; except from Tom, and all he’d got for his troubles was pain and rejection.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right now?’ Steve was relieved that at least he had got her home and safe. ‘Would you like me to come in and call the police … tell them what happened? I really don’t mind staying with you till they arrive. After all, I believe I was the only witness, and I can describe the ruffians to them.’

  ‘No!’ Panic set in. ‘No … thank you. You’ve done enough. Please, leave it to me now.’

  ‘OK. If that’s what you really want.’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  Steve addressed the older woman. ‘Make sure she calls them, will you? She’ll listen to you. This was a terrible business, and they must not be allowed to get away with what they did.’

  Though surprised that he should think she had more influence over the victim than he did, the woman assured him, ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure she calls them. And you’re right, they need to be caught.’

  She turned her attention to Ruth. ‘Come on then, lady. Let’s get you settled.’

  Ruth smiled at the idea of herself as a ‘lady’.

  ‘Good night then …’ Bending his head down, Steve tried to see her face, but she drew away. ‘… I didn’t get your name.’ He suspected she was still in shock after the ordeal.

  ‘Good night. And thank you again.’ Ever evasive, she kept the exchange to a minimum. ‘I dread to think what might have happened if you hadn’t helped me.’

  ‘Ah, well, I’m just glad to have been there at the time.’ Respecting her nervousness, and the reluctance to give out her name, Steve did not ask again, and anyway, now that she was safely home, he was anxious to get back to the hotel. ‘I’d best be away and find my taxi. Don’t forget to tell the police they took your belongings. You never know, it might help track them down.’

  He turned away and went quickly down the street, while the landlady closed the door.

  Back on Montague Street, Steve was relieved to see a taxi cruising up and down, as though looking for his fare. ‘Hey … taxi!’ Running after it, he caught the attention of the driver. ‘I think you must be looking for me. King’s Hotel, yes?’

  ‘That’s right, lad. You’re lucky to find me still here. I was beginning to think I’d got the wrong street.’

  When the taxi pulled up to the kerb, Steve jumped in. ‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. Only …’

  The driver was shocked as Steve explained what had happened.

  ‘She’s lucky you were around.’

  ‘And I’m glad I was.’

  Steve thought of the woman. There was something about her that made him curious. He hadn’t noticed so much at the time, but when he now thought back, he recalled how she never once looked up at him. She seemed reluctant to talk, and she certainly did not want him going inside the house.

  But then he reminded himself how she must have suffered at the hands of those men. He imagined she would be haunted by the ordeal for a long time to come.

  Also, it was understandable that she had not invited him into her home. After all, and in spite of his timely intervention, he was just another stranger.

  ‘Let’s just hope you don’t find any more damsels in distress, eh?’ the driver interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘That’s right. I reckon I’ve done my knight in shining armour for now.’

  Conversation over, the driver said no more, and after the night he’d experienced, Steve was thankful to sit quiet and enjoy the ride.

  He hoped by now that his niece, Susie, was fast and hard asleep.

  Inside the boarding house, the buxom landlady duly tended to the deep bruises on Ruth’s ankles. ‘Wicked swines! They should be locked up.’ She had plenty to say on the matter.

  Ruth had to smile; not only was this woman colourful in character and appearance, she also had an endearing attitude.

  While the landlady worked on her bruises, Ruth found her thoughts returning to the man who ha
d rescued her and brought her back here. ‘I never even got his name.’

  ‘Whose name is that, then?’

  ‘The man who chased them away and saved me from something I daren’t even think about …’ She envisaged her attackers fleeing. ‘No one else has ever done anything like that for me … except you.’ She added, ‘And I do appreciate your help, I really do.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  The landlady was concerned that the young woman should be with her family. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up, then I’d best call the police. After you’ve told them what happened, I’m sure they’ll be only too pleased to take you home.’

  Having bathed and cleaned and finally applied a soothing ointment to Ruth’s ankles, she gathered the flannel and bowl, and scrambled clumsily to her feet. ‘There! How are your ankles now?’

  Having seen the torn skin on Ruth’s ankles and lower legs, she could only imagine the rough treatment she’d received; and it made her sick to her stomach.

  ‘I feel much better now, thank you.’ The two men had not only hurt her, but they had taken pleasure in it. The big man had gripped her ankles so tightly, she had hardly been able to move them, and when for that split second she managed to wriggle them from his tight grip, he dug his nails into her flesh, causing more pain.

  Also, her mouth and jaw were still hurting where the other culprit had clamped his fist over her face to keep her from screaming out.

  Even now, although she was safe enough here, her sense of terror lingered.

  ‘I’ll make us each a mug of cocoa,’ the older woman said. ‘It might help you relax.’ She could see how upset the young woman was, by the haunted look in her eyes, and by the way she constantly clenched and unclenched her fists. On passing, she brushed her hand against Ruth’s shoulder. ‘It’s all over now,’ she told her. ‘You should try and relax.’

  Smiling over her shoulder, Ruth nodded; and her hostess went away to make the cocoa, a satisfied little smile on her face.

  In no time at all, she was back again, carrying two steaming mugs. ‘I never asked … what’s your name?’

  ‘Ruth.’

  ‘And I’m Marilyn Parker.’ She sniggered proudly. ‘Marilyn after Marilyn Monroe and Parker after the bloke I married.

  ‘He works away most o’ the time. He’s a lorry driver. One time, he went away for a week … got home in the early hours and climbed into bed alongside me.’ Grinning, she rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘I’m telling you, we were at it for hours. He’d missed me … or that was what he said; until I found out later he’d given me the dreaded clap. Got it from some woman who climbed on his running board when he was asleep in the lorry. She offered to “keep him company” and he couldn’t say no, and that’s how he got the clap and passed it on to me. It goes without saying, I banned him from my bed for a month, only I missed him more than he missed me, so I let him back in after two nights.’

  She made a painful grimace. ‘The pair of us went to the doctor together. Embarrassing, it was, but I made sure the doctor knew who was to blame. I swear, if he ever goes with another woman again, I’ll chop his dufer clean off!’

  When Marilyn laughed a raucous laugh, Ruth couldn’t help but laugh with her. Truth was, she had taken a real liking to this wonderful, outrageous woman.

  In more serious mood, Marilyn placed a mug of cocoa into Ruth’s open hands, before sitting opposite with her own. ‘If you’re determined not to call the police, we really ought to let your family know where you are,’ she advised. ‘There’s a phone in the hallway. I can call them, if you’d rather not.’

  ‘NO!’ Ruth began to panic. ‘No! You can’t! I don’t want them worried. I’ll be all right. There’s no need for them to know.’

  The older woman nodded knowingly. ‘You don’t want me to call them, so I won’t. But I’d like you to tell me the real reason why you don’t want to call anyone, not even the police.’ She was more concerned than curious.

  Ruth’s heart sank. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do.’ Watching Ruth closely, she chided, ‘I haven’t got to this age without learning to recognise a downright lie when I hear it.’ She gave Ruth an encouraging smile. ‘But if you’d rather not be honest with me, that’s up to you.’

  Sensing her suspicions, Ruth said, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m grateful to you, really I am.’

  ‘But you don’t feel you can trust me, is that it?’

  Ruth slowly nodded. ‘Yes … I mean, I don’t know.’

  ‘Tell me, Ruth, why did that man bring you to my door, rather than take you home?’

  ‘Because I led him to believe that this is where I live.’

  ‘I see. But why did you do that? I’m sure he would have taken you home, wherever you lived.’

  Sipping her cocoa, she gave Ruth time to think about her answer.

  ‘I brought him here because I was sleeping in your porch when those men found me. And because … well, because … I don’t have a home. Or a family.’ Afraid of what the future held, a sense of loss and desolation swamped her.

  When the tears ran down her face, they were not because of her own predicament, or her son being abandoned, or even the terrifying ordeal she had just gone through.

  Her tears were for Tom. The man who had carried her through all the lonely years; the man who had provided a home, and protection from the harsh world. The man who had raised another man’s child without knowing it; raised him with love and pride, and a sense of achievement, and even when he was told that the boy was not his, he still loved and protected him. He removed him from her wickedness, and kept him safe, in the only way he knew how.

  In her vicious spite to hurt them both, she had destroyed everything Tom and the boy held dear.

  The images of Tom’s last moments haunted her. She saw him clearly in her mind, standing on the bridge, crippled with all manner of torment, before throwing himself under that train. And however anyone tried to tell her different, she knew that, deep down, it was she and she alone who had driven him to do such a frightening thing.

  Suddenly it all became too much and the tears became an uncontrollable flood. When she felt the woman’s arms round her shoulders, she had a desperate need to tell her things; private things that she had never told anyone.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she told her. ‘If you only knew the terrible things I’ve said and done … oh …’ Overwhelmed with grief, she held her head in shame.

  ‘Talk to me,’ the other woman urged her. ‘Tell me what troubles you.’ She patted Ruth’s hand. ‘You know what they say: a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

  So Ruth told her, and once she started, it was as though she had opened a dam and, even if she had wanted to, she could not stop.

  She confessed everything: about the handsome young musician she’d met and fallen in love with all those years back. They were such precious memories, and she could see it all, as though it were only yesterday.

  ‘It was the most wonderful night of my life,’ she murmured. ‘I remember, it had been a beautiful, warm day … and the evening was magical. There was a beach party. I went with my friend Connie. Steve and I danced to the music, we were so happy, so right for each other. After the music stopped and the crowds vanished and Connie went back to our boarding house, it was unbelievably quiet except for the sound of the sea lapping against the shore. And the stars! Oh, they were so amazing! Bright and twinkly, shining down … lighting our way as we strolled along the beach.’ She paused a moment, remembering, and wishing; and regretting what was gone for ever.

  As she listened, Marilyn saw a transformation in Ruth. She saw how her eyes lit up, and her whole body relaxed. She saw how her smile softened. More than that, she saw the love in Ruth’s face, in her voice, and in her whole demeanour. And she felt her incredible loneliness.

  It was obvious to Marilyn that the young man called Steve had been Ruth’s first, and possibly her only love. He had been her soulmate; that much was obvious.
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  Unaware of the older woman’s intense interest in her, Ruth lost herself in the memories, talking in a whisper, as though to herself. ‘We walked along the beach, and it was like we’d known each other for all our lives. We talked about everything; what we liked and what we didn’t like. We swapped dreams and wishes. We talked a lot about music, and Steve told me how, since he was a small boy, he had always wanted it to be his life.’

  At this point, Ruth looked up into Marilyn’s eyes. ‘That’s where Casey gets his love of music,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘Who’s Casey?’

  ‘He’s my son … and Steve is his father. He plays the guitar just like his daddy … like he’s part of the guitar … like the music is inside him … and when he plays it’s almost as though his life depends on it.’

  Her thoughts strayed back to the past and the day she and Steve met. ‘I’ll never forget that night with Steve,’ she said wistfully. ‘We seemed to walk for ages, without seeing a single person. It was almost as though we were all alone in the world.’

  ‘It sounds idyllic.’

  ‘Oh, it was; it really was! After a time, we found a quiet corner of the beach, where we lay down together. At first we were just looking up at the stars … saying how magical they were. Then he was holding me, and oh, Marilyn, I felt such love for him.’

  ‘I can believe that.’ Slightly envious because she had never known love of an honest kind, she was deeply moved by Ruth’s powerful emotions. ‘You obviously loved him then; and you love him still, I see that.’

  ‘You’re right, I do love him, with all my heart. But I shouldn’t love him. I should hate him! He said he loved me, and then he was gone, and I never saw him again.’

  She explained how Steve left Blackpool suddenly. ‘I found out I was carrying his child, and managed to get a message to him, but he never returned, and left her to face it all by myself.’

  She had never truly got over him. ‘He went without even saying goodbye,’ she faltered. ‘After he’d gone, I tried to forget him, but I couldn’t.’