Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  She was angry with Tom for allowing her to become the monster she was. The questions raged through her. Why didn’t Tom hit out earlier? Why didn’t he leave me? Why did he stay with me for all those years? Why could he not see how little I thought of him? How did he not realise that the boy was not his son? And how could he not see how much I loathed the boy?

  Her thoughts returned to the callous way in which Steve had deserted her. ‘And what about Steve? Someone I truly loved? And yet, what he did to me was only what I did to Tom, and the boy … causing them pain. Turning them away, as though they were nothing.’

  Only now did she fully understand.

  But it did not change the truth: that even now, seeing how it had been, she still felt no stirring of love for either Tom or the boy.

  Curiosity overwhelmed her. I wonder how it might have been, if Steve had accepted me and the child? I wonder if things might have been different. I think I could have loved the boy, because I would have had his father. Isn’t that so? Or is it just wishful thinking?

  Either way, one thing was certain: it would never happen, because Steve was gone, and Tom was gone, and the boy was lost to her. She had no one, and nothing. Her life as she knew it was over.

  ‘It’s too late now,’ she said aloud with a nervous little smile. ‘So be it!’

  Exhausted, she climbed back into bed and for a while her thoughts raced on. Tomorrow, she had decisions to make. More than ever, she must not be rash or take a wrong turn in her life. Yet she had been offered work and a place to lay her head. She had said yes, but was it what she really wanted?

  Did she want to stay here, close to where she had suffered such an ordeal? Would she ever dare to venture out, in case those men saw her? Was it possible they might wait their chance to snare the prey they’d been cheated out of?

  She had gladly given the landlady her word. Now, though, after giving it more serious thought, she was not sure what to do.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AT LONG LAST, the day had arrived.

  Casey was so excited, he could hardly wait for his granddad Bob to get ready. He ran into the scullery. ‘Hurry up, Granddad! We need to go. He might be closing early, or he might think we’re not coming. Please, Granddad, hurry up!’

  ‘Hey!’ Speaking from the side of his mouth, the old man swirled the shaving brush over his stubbly chin. ‘You’ll ’ave me slicing a chunk outta me face if yer don’t stop nagging! Read your Beano and be patient. I’ll be done when I’m done, and not afore. So, be off with yer … go on! Let me finish shaving an’ we’ll be on our way.’

  He shooed him out of the scullery. ‘Yer mekkin’ me a nervous wreck, yer impatient little bugger.’ He quietly cursed when the razor edge caught him on the cheek.

  ‘Sorry, Granddad.’ Casey knew he should not be hounding his granddad, especially when he was shaving, but he was excited, and fearful at the same time, in case something might go wrong before they got there.

  When Casey turned away, the old man gave a little grin. ‘We’ll be on our way soon, lad,’ he muttered to himself, ‘an’ don’t think I’m not excited as you are, because I am.’

  He knew well enough what today meant for the boy. After all the sadness in Casey’s young life, today was a chink of light; and it was a grand and welcome thing, for both the boy and himself.

  When Granddad Bob appeared looking smart and tidy, Casey was impressed, but honest. ‘You look like a brand-new man. Dolly won’t like it, though, ’cause you look different.’

  ‘O’ course she will.’

  Taking a deep, invigorating breath, the old fella collected his jacket from the door peg, then took out his wallet and checked that he had enough money. Now he was ready.

  ‘Right, lad. It’s time to go.’

  The two of them went down the passageway and out the door, then Granddad Bob made sure the house was secured before they set off down the street. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, yer must say nowt. Yer to leave all the talking to me. I know how these people work.’

  ‘How’s that, Granddad?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Giving a knowing wink, he tapped the side of his nose. ‘He might be able to bamboozle his other customers, but not me, ’cause I’ve been around too long to be bamboozled by anybody.’

  ‘Why would he want to bam … bomzle you, Granddad?’

  ‘Well, ’cause from what I’ve been told, he’s a canny businessman, and canny businessmen like to squeeze out a tidy profit for themselves, sometimes at the expense of unwary customers.’

  ‘Are you an unwary customer?’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘So, that’s good then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  A short time later, with Casey skipping ahead, they reached the bus stop. Having watched the bus draw in, they were surprised to see Dolly climbing down off the platform, carrying two shopping bags full to the brim.

  ‘You’re back early, lass.’

  ‘That’s because I set off early.’ Moving in with these two boys had made her happier than she’d been for a very long time. She’d given up her rented house beside the railway, given Bartie to Billy next door – which pleased both man and dog – and then, with Patrick’s help and the now empty wagon, Bob had arranged to collect her belongings.

  Granddad gave her a peck on the cheek before she stooped to give Casey a cuddle. She couldn’t help but note the boy’s impatience to be away.

  ‘We’re off to collect the guitar,’ Granddad reminded her, ‘but there’s time enough for us to help you home with them heavy bags.’

  Dolly would have none of it, especially with Casey dancing on the spot with excitement. ‘Thank you for the offer,’ she feigned indignation, ‘but I’m not so feeble I can’t carry a couple of shopping bags on my own.’ She ushered Casey onto the bus. ‘Be off, the pair of you, and be careful, eh?’ Playfully running her hand through the old fella’s sleeked-back hair, she helped him onto the bus.

  As she waved them off, she laughingly called out, ‘Oh, and I prefer my men with a bit o’ stubble, so don’t scrape it off again, Bob, it doesn’t suit yer. And while yer at it, tek that paper off your cheek. Yer look like you’ve been in a road accident.’

  ‘See! I knew she wouldn’t like it.’ Casey couldn’t help but smile.

  Slightly irritated, the old fella shoved the boy into his seat and plopped down beside him. ‘OK, OK, so I were wrong and you were right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But for the future, you need to remember a little knowledge is a bad thing.’

  ‘That’s not what my teacher says. She says knowledge opens many doors.’

  ‘Is that so? And which doors are we talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you’d best ask ’er, and when you know, you’d best tell me.’

  While Casey was thinking, the conductor arrived. ‘Town centre is it?’ He popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

  ‘That’s it, yes … oh, and mek ’em returns, will yer?’

  ‘Right.’ He threw the chewing gum round his teeth. ‘So, it’s one senior, and one child for the town centre?’

  ‘Correct. So, how much is that, then?’

  ‘One and fourpence, please.’ He waited while the old fella found the right change.

  Having heard the exchange between the old man and the woman who got off, he asked, ‘Cut yourself shaving, did you?’

  ‘Might ’ave.’ Bob had had enough of discussions concerning his stubble.

  The mangled chewing gum did acrobatics on the conductor’s tongue. ‘So, did you, or didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did, as it ’appens.’

  Casey joined the conversation. ‘It were my fault. I kept bothering him. That’s why he cut himself.’

  ‘Your fault, eh?’ Smiling, the conductor glanced at the old fella. ‘That’s kids for you,’ he groaned. ‘Little sods, they are! I’ve got three, and I should know.’

  Without another word, he quickly wound the tickets from the machine round his neck,
dropped the fare into his leather satchel, and with his tongue blowing bubbles through the chewing gum, he sauntered off, humming a merry tune.

  Behind him, relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped, Bob peeled the paper from his cheek. ‘Damned rude, if yer ask me … chewing that gum with his mouth open in front o’ folk!’ He’d been unnerved by the sight of that chewing gum, ‘Jigging about like cement in a mixer, it were!’

  ‘What did you say, Granddad?’ Casey was preoccupied, thinking about his guitar.

  ‘Nowt, lad.’ He shook his head. ‘I said nowt.’

  Casey knew his granddad had been surprised at Dolly’s response to his flattened hair, so he left him well alone, and thought about where they were headed.

  His excitement grew, and he could hardly wait.

  They arrived at the boulevard some ten minutes later, with the conductor helping the old fella off, and the old fella helping the boy off. ‘I thank you for your help,’ Bob advised the conductor, ‘… and I know my old legs aren’t what they used to be. But I do not tek kindly to being helped off the bus, an’ I’d like yer to remember that.’

  ‘Oh, I will, and I’m very sorry I must say.’ The conductor was familiar with Granddad Bob, and he’d forgotten how proud and independent he was. ‘Just trying to help, that’s all.’

  The old fella afforded him a tight little smile, but chose not to answer. Instead Bob took Casey across the road, past the church, and on to King Street. ‘It’s nobbut a skip an’ a stride to the shop from ’ere, lad.’

  Taking hold of the boy’s hand, he led the way at a smart pace until, coming onto Whalley Banks, he got a bit breathless. ‘We’d best slow down now,’ he told Casey. ‘I need a minute to gather mesel’.’

  Breathless and leg-weary, he made a pretence of stopping to look into a shop window, but when Casey asked if he was all right, he stood up straight and marched on. ‘Let me do all the talking when we get there,’ he warned. ‘Y’see, I’m not too familiar with this partic’lar fella. It were our old friend Frank as told us about him, so you just watch and listen, while I do the business. All right?’

  ‘Yes, Granddad.’

  ‘Good … oh, hey-up, we’re almost there!’ After passing the tripe shop, they were at their destination, their attention drawn to the fascinating bric-a-brac displayed in the windows.

  The shelves in both bay windows were a feast for the eyes. Dressed in all manner of beautiful and curious things, they made a fine show. There were ornaments, brass, china and wooden artefacts, bronze and silver medals from the wars, and any amount of heavy, handsome jewellery from a bygone age.

  ‘By!’ Granddad Bob took a moment to peruse the display. ‘If a fella were looking to buy his lady-friend a present, ’e wouldn’t know where to start.’

  Like Granddad Bob, Casey was overawed, just as he had been the one and only other time they’d been here when they took the guitar in.

  ‘Are you going to buy Dolly a present?’ He saw Granddad Bob eyeing up what looked like a neckerchief.

  ‘Not at these prices I’m not. Unless he’s got summat hidden away that fits my pocket.’

  ‘Why don’t we ask him then?’

  ‘We’ll do no such thing. Once you show an interest, there’s no stopping ’em. Like them crafty crabs, they’ll catch hold of yer, an’ won’t let go no how.’

  ‘So, you’re not getting Dolly a present then?’

  ‘I’m not saying that exactly, but we didn’t come ’ere to buy presents, as well yer know. Then again, I’m not altogether ruling it out. I’m just saying, if I’m of a mind, and if I can afford it after we’ve paid the bill, I might think about it. But you remember what I said, lad.’

  He tapped the side of his nose as a reminder. ‘You leave all the talking to me, lad.’

  Jake Morrison watched them at the window, enjoying their friendly bickering, though, annoyingly, he could not make out what the old man and the boy were bickering about.

  Standing behind the counter and watching the goings-on outside his shop was a favourite pastime. Often he would stand there for ages, just watching and listening. Some folks were convinced that he lived, ate and slept behind that counter. Unshaven, unkempt and sloppily attired in a once-fine suit of fading blue check, he presented an image that made this easy to believe.

  ‘Good morning to you.’ Leaping from behind his beloved counter, he swung open the door. He swirled his arm in a welcoming gesture. ‘Please … come inside.’ His thick, wayward hair had long since turned grey, and fell round his shoulders like a mantle. But it was the eyes that drew the attention: darkest green and ocean-deep, they took the attention away from his sloppy suit, wild hair and chin bristles.

  When he spoke it was with a somewhat refined voice, the legacy of a wealthy childhood. As a boy he was educated in the most expensive schools, where he was taught fine music and good manners; though his privileged experience did not prepare him for the bitter fight that emerged in his early manhood, after the sad loss of his beloved father.

  The unhappy event involved his father’s will and Jake’s wayward brother, the bane of his father’s life, but the apple of his mother’s eye.

  Deeply shaken by the deep and bitter rift that grew between himself, his sibling and his mother, Jake succumbed to a spiral of wine, women and gambling until, in his late thirties, a near-fatal accident made him realise that life was too short to waste in such a way.

  He found a new direction. He threw himself into working every hour he could, for anyone who would employ him, regardless of how difficult or demanding the work might be, and he saved every penny possible.

  Disowned by his family, his determination to build up a business was never dimmed, though it took long, hard years to save money enough to take out a lease on the little shop he now owned; and to buy enough small artefacts to tempt the customers. The initial weeks of trading were not a huge success, but with the sale of one artefact, he would buy two more, and so his stock grew in number and quality.

  He was a businessman at last, and on the side he would teach music for one afternoon a week, thus increasing his income until he had a cosy little home, a shop window bursting with beautiful things, and the pleasure of knowing that he was his own boss.

  Over these past years, he often wondered what his mother and brother would say about him having been successful; not in a huge way, but in a way that meant he was the architect of his own life, at last.

  Sadly, though, success came at a price. By the age of forty, he got out of bed in the mornng and there was no one to talk with. He went to bed at night with no one to hold. He might laugh at a thought, and there was no one to ask what he was laughing at. Or he might be low, and there was no one to lift his spirits, except maybe the odd customer now and then. His bank account was now quite respectable, but there was no one to share it, and so he remained a lonely man, hungry for the company of someone who might love and cherish him.

  At night he would retire to his lonely bed and wish with all his heart that one day, some sweet person might walk into his shop and he would know that this was the day when his life would truly begin. So far, it had not happened, but he held onto the possibility because the idea of him being alone for evermore was too daunting to contemplate.

  ‘I see you’ve got Casey with you.’ Reaching out with a grubby hand, he ruffled Casey’s hair. ‘It’s good to see you, young man. Excited, are you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ As on the previous occasion when he’d met Jake Morrison, Casey was overawed; by Jake’s eccentric appearance and his voice, which was nothing like his granddad’s voice, being sort of posh, and kind of musical.

  As for Jake, he had met Granddad Bob and Casey just the once, but he had taken a strong liking to them both. He was aware of the tragic manner in which this good man had lost his son, and then the aftermath of the boy’s mother taking off, leaving the child in the care of his granddad. He knew all about family break-ups, and he knew it must have been a very difficult time for these two.
r />   Bob greeted Jake warmly. ‘All right, are you?’

  ‘I am, thank you, yes.’

  The old fella moved the conversation on. ‘So is it ready, then?’

  ‘It is, and though I say it myself, I’ve done a first-class job on it. I must say, it was a broken mess and no mistake. I’ve tuned it, played it and polished it, and now all it needs is tenderness.’

  ‘You’ve played it, you say?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t be doing my work properly if I didn’t play it. How else would I know if its character was intact?’

  Casey had been bursting to speak, and now he could hold himself back no longer. ‘Please, Mr Morrison, can I see it … please?’ It seemed such an age since he’d held his daddy’s guitar.

  Jake nodded. ‘Of course, young man. After all, I understand it’s your guitar.’ He turned on his heel and went smartly into the back room.

  ‘By! It’s been a long time coming, eh, lad?’ Granddad Bob knew how concerned the boy was. ‘Don’t worry, I’m told this man knows everything there is to know about guitars and such, and I’m sure he’s done a grand job.’ His voice hardened. ‘If he hasn’t, then he’ll be in for a rough ride, you mark my words.’

  After what seemed an aching few minutes, Jake returned.

  ‘When you brought the guitar in, it was in an old nylon case, and wrapped in a paper bag, so I took the liberty of searching out an old leather case of mine. It will offer more protection, and it’s more fitting for such a splendid instrument. I’m sorry to have taken such liberties, but I’d like you to have it, and I hope you’re not offended?’

  ‘Not at all.’ The old fella was grateful. ‘We never did have a proper case for it, but I hope you’re not about to charge us the earth, because if you are—’

  ‘No!’ Jake stopped him. ‘It’s a present, from me to your grandson … if he wants it, that is?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Casey thought it was a wonderful present. ‘My daddy could never afford a leather one.’