Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  ‘Well, thank you, Casey.’ Blushing a bright shade of pink, Granddad Bob pretended to read his newspaper. ‘I’m sure Dolly needed to know that.’

  Feeling a little sorry for him, Dolly still could not resist making the comment, ‘Ah! So, now we have the sordid truth. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say.’

  Impatient, the old fella tried to explain the incident. ‘It were not an argument, as such, ’cause me an’ our Tom never argued. It were a little exchange of words, that’s all. Anyway, the pair of ’em turned up an hour earlier than they should ’ave. I were late outta me bed, and just tekking off my socks when in they came, large as life …’ Before Casey could open his mouth, he gave him a warning glance. ‘Like I say, it were summat and nowt,’ he grumbled. ‘It were never an argument.’

  In his own defence, Casey concluded the tale. ‘Granddad were just taking his socks off when we came in. Daddy told him they stank the house out, and Granddad pulled a face. Then on the way home, Daddy said he was sorry he’d said anything, because Granddad got all uppity.’ He thought for a minute, then: ‘Granddad, what does “uppity” mean?’

  Granddad Bob stuck to his own version. ‘Listen to me, lad! You’ve got it all wrong. Yer daddy were just winding me up. Yer know very well, ’e were allus one for winding me up.’ He lowered his voice until it was barely audible. ‘If I could turn back the clock right now, I’d let him wind me up till the cows came ’ome.’ Tom was never far from his thoughts.

  The mood in the room changed. Granddad Bob was horrified when he saw Casey’s sorry little face. ‘Aw, I’m sorry, lad. Come ’ere to yer granddad, eh?’ He opened his arms for the boy to come to him, and when he ran into his fierce embrace, the two of them clung together.

  Across the room, Dolly was deeply saddened at the sight of these two dear people, whom she had come to love like her very own.

  A moment or so later, the atmosphere was charged with excitement when Casey glanced up at the window. ‘He’s here, Granddad!’ He started leaping up and down. ‘Look! Patrick’s here!’

  And sure enough, the battered old wagon was rolling up to the front door, clanging and banging, and sounding for all the world like it would fall apart at any minute. ‘Looks like it’s about to conk out,’ the old fella moaned. ‘I expect the silly old devil’s overloaded it.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Having parked the wagon half on the pavement and half on the cobbled street, Patrick came lolloping up the path.

  Granddad Bob started yelling at him from the door, ‘If yer expect me to unload a pile o’ junk when we get to market, you’ve another thought coming. I’ve been conned once too often to fall for that little trick. And that’s that!’

  ‘Ah, will ye shurrup, yer silly ol’ divil!’ Patrick was not in the best of moods. ‘Whether ye loike it or not, this wagon has to be unloaded, an’ so far as I can see, you an’ me are the only two men ’ere. Am I roight … or am I roight?’

  When Granddad Bob made no comment, Patrick tried another way. ‘I’m sorry, lad,’ He gave Casey a helpless look. ‘If your granddad won’t help me, there’ll be no market stall today, an’ if there’s no market stall, there’ll be no guitar-playing and no singing. Don’t blame me, boy. The thing is, I’ve got a bad back, an’ there’s no way I can unload that wagon by myself.’

  ‘Oh, ’ere we go again!’ The old fella had to smile at the other one’s antics. ‘All right, we can’t have you being carted off to hospital with a bad back, can we now?’

  ‘So you’ll help me?’

  Granddad Bob was well aware that Patrick was putting it on. In fact, they had the same rigmorole every time they went to market; Patrick would assume that his old friend might not want to help unload, and so he’d pretend he had a bad back. ‘You’re a wily old bugger, Patrick, and for the life o’ me, I don’t know why you start up with this bad back soonever we arrive at market. I’ve always helped you unload, and yet you keep up this pretence. Shame on yer.’

  He started back into the house. ‘I’ll not be a minute. Oh, an’ don’t start without me.’ As if Patrick ever would.

  Still chuckling, he took the boy back inside to say cheerio to Dolly, who intended meeting up with them later. He tutted while he was putting on his jacket, and he tutted as he marched out with the boy in one hand, and the guitar in the other. ‘That Patrick … what will I do with him, eh?’ He laughed out loud. ‘He likes the attention, that’s what it is.

  ‘’Ere, lad. You’d best hold on tight to this.’ Handing the guitar to Casey, Bob settled him into the passenger seat before climbing up beside him. ‘This old wagon is about to shiver an’ shake all over the place,’ he warned the boy, ‘’cause Patrick is sure to be driving through every pothole that was ever created.’

  Casey hugged his precious guitar close, and when Patrick returned from checking his load, Casey asked him worriedly, ‘You won’t, will you, Patrick?’

  ‘What’s that, m’boy?’ When he was expecting trouble, Patrick had a habit of tucking his chin into his neck, and looking up through the top of his eyes; and that’s exactly what he did now. ‘Is the old idjet making trouble again?’

  Casey related his granddad’s warning, ‘I’m frightened my daddy’s guitar might get broken.’

  Patrick leaned towards the boy, a smile on his artful old face. ‘You tell your granddad from me, I do not drive through potholes, nor do I make the wagon shiver and shake. Trust me, I’d cut off my right arm, before I would ever put your daddy’s guitar at risk. You have my word on it.’

  Casey was greatly relieved. ‘Thank you, Patrick.’

  Leaning forward, Patrick gave his friend a shrivelling glance, while addressing his comments to the boy. ‘Ye must not listen to this rambling ol’ divil. Sure he’s only jealous, ’cause unlike me, he’s not got a grand wagon, nor a market stall. An’ that’s what niggles him.’

  His comment set the old fella chortling; making the other two laugh along with him, and though the teasing went on, the mood remained very jolly.

  ‘D’yer know what we are?’ the old fella asked proudly.

  ‘No,’ Patrick was ready for the off, ‘though I’m sure you’ll tell me.’

  Bob stuck out a proud chest. ‘The Three Musketeers, that’s what we are! We’re on a very important mission, with a special guitar that was in pieces, and now it’s like new again. Moreover, I’m here with my grandson and my best friend in the whole world; even though he can be a crotchety old bugger when he likes. So, when push comes to shove and the whole world seems agin’ us, we’ve still got each other.’ Sliding an arm round Casey’s shoulders, he felt good. ‘What else could a man ask for, eh?’ As always, Tom was strong in his mind.

  For a while, the mood in the wagon was a merry one; until out of nowhere, a stray football came smashing into the windscreen, ‘What the divil … !’ Patrick shook his fist at the young culprits in the street. ‘Ye little monsters, clear off … unless ye want yer arses kicking, the lot o’ ye!’

  ‘It’s you that wants his arse kicking, old man!’ came the insolent reply. ‘And if you ask me, that rattling old bag o’ bones wants dumping in the scrapyard!’

  ‘Hey, mind your tongue!’ Trying hard to keep a straight face, Patrick wagged a finger. ‘Don’t you dare insult my friend Bob like that!’

  ‘Enough o’ that!’ Bob was not amused. ‘The lad didn’t mean me. They meant this rusty ol’ wagon. And besides, my bones don’t rattle.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they do,’ Patrick winked at the boy. ‘There’s too much fat round ’em, that’s why.’

  The boys ran off with their football, while the two men continued their light-hearted bickering.

  Until Casey felt obliged to warn his granddad Bob, ‘If you don’t stop arguing, I’ll tell Dolly. She’ll give you what for.’

  His childish warning shocked them into silence, but it didn’t last long. ‘Sounds to me like she has your granddad well under control,’ Patrick said. ‘Huh! And this is the man who swore he would never be tamed.’
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  ‘Hark at the kettle calling the pan black.’ Addressing his grandson, Bob had a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’ll have you know, young man, there’s not a woman on this earth that can tell me and Patrick what to do.’ In a whisper, and with a sly little wink to the boy, he added cautiously, ‘Mind you, it might not be wise to tell her I said that.’

  Along the journey, the two old fellas teased and tormented each other, until Patrick decided to entertain them with tales of his many hilarious escapades.

  Consequently, the cab was soon rocking with laughter, all the way to market.

  ‘Uncle Steve’s not coming, is he, Mummy?’ Having eaten two home-made chocolate fancies, and downed a glass of sarsaparilla, Susie was growing increasingly anxious.

  ‘Stop fidgeting, Susie, he’ll be here soon.’ Alice was also wondering how much longer Steve might be.

  ‘Can I go outside and look?’

  ‘You’ve been in and out like a yo-yo,’ Alice reminded her. ‘It won’t make him get here any quicker.’

  ‘Aw, please, Mummy?’

  ‘Go on then, but promise you’ll stay where I can see you.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Susie then went outside to continue pacing up and down. She walked along the street as far as she was allowed, constantly stretching her neck, hoping to catch sight of her uncle’s familiar figure.

  A few minutes later, while Alice was on her third cup of tea, Susie slouched back inside. ‘He’s not coming. He’s forgotten.’ She was close to tears.

  ‘Aw, my little Susie, would I ever do that to you?’ From behind her, Steve’s voice rang out.

  ‘Uncle Steve!’ Laughing excitedly, she ran to him. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting ages for you.’

  Swinging her into his arms, he gave her a kiss, then he sat her down. ‘I promise you, I got here as soon as I could.’

  Wearied by the long morning and the many, frustrating discussions, he drew out a chair and dropped himself in it with a sigh of relief.

  Alice could see how weary he was, so she didn’t ask any questions, but one: ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  ‘After the ordeal I’ve just had, I certainly wouldn’t say no, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘No, thanks all the same. I did manage to grab a sandwich.’

  ‘OK.’ Alice went over to the counter and ordered two fresh pots of tea.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Steve and Susie deep in conversation, then Susie was laughing, and Steve was making funny faces.

  ‘The girl obviously loves her daddy.’ The woman behind the counter had also seen how the other two were having fun together.

  Alice smiled. ‘Oh, he’s not her daddy, he’s her uncle, but you’re right, Susie does love him – almost as much as she loves his brother, Mike, my husband and Susie’s father.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The girl liked to chat. ‘So does your brother-in-law have children of his own?’

  ‘Sadly, no.’

  ‘Oh, that’s such a shame. He looks like he’d make a wonderful dad.’ She handed Alice her change.

  Walking back to the table, Alice thought of the girl’s comments. She was right; Steve really would make a wonderful father. She and Mike had always known that.

  It wasn’t long before the waitress arrived with the tea. ‘I’ve brought a lollipop for the child.’ She smiled at Susie and then she told Alice, ‘It’s on the house.’

  Steve took a great gulp of his tea. ‘This morning has been a real tussle,’ he told her, ‘but I’m sure you don’t want to know all the tiresome details.’

  ‘Of course I do!’ Alice gently kicked him under the table. ‘I want to know every little detail, so out with it,’ she said. ‘How did it go?’

  Deliberately aggravating her, he took another gulp of his tea, then winked at Susie, who tried to wink back, but ended up squinting cross-eyed.

  ‘On the whole, it went very well,’ Steve said. ‘It was an uphill struggle, but we got there in the end.’

  Delighted Alice leaned over to give him a kiss. ‘Well done, I knew you could do it.’

  Not to be left out, Susie climbed onto his lap, looking up at him like he was a real hero.

  Steve went on to outline the situation. ‘They gave it the thumbs-up, but with some conditions; which I won’t go into now, because it’s all a bit complicated. What it means is, I’ll need to stay here another day. As I suspected, I’ll need to speak to a number of people involved, like the lawyer, and the builders, together with the architect, who will need to amend his plans. Then it’s back to the authorities, when hopefully they’ll agree with the changes and rubber-stamp it, so I can start putting my plans into action.’

  Jubilant, he clenched his fists in the air. ‘I can hardly believe we’re almost there,’ he said. ‘At least, they didn’t turn it down out of hand.’

  Susie was excited too. First, because Uncle Steve and her mummy were excited, but mostly because, now that they were altogether, she could go to the market and see the boy play his guitar.

  Just now, though, her mummy and Uncle Steve were drinking and talking, and she was growing more and more impatient.

  When she could control her impatience no longer, she shouted, ‘WHEN ARE WE GOING TO SEE THE BOY?’

  Alice quietly shushed her. ‘It’s rude to raise your voice like that. Uncle Steve and I are having a conversation. As soon as we’ve finished our tea, we’ll take you to see the boy; if you could just be patient for a minute or so longer.’ Reaching out, she stroked Susie’s hair. ‘All right, sweetheart?’

  Fed up with waiting, Susie took a moment to answer, but eventually she replied sulkily, ‘All right then.’

  She cheered up when Steve told her, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m still catching my breath. I promise we’ll get you to the market in no time at all.’

  So, while the adults talked a little longer, Susie glued her nose to the window, taking intermittent licks of her bright yellow lollipop, and watching the world go by.

  Every now and then, she would impatiently glance up to see her mummy and Uncle Steve in serious conversation, then she would sigh and groan and take another lick of her lollipop, her gaze constantly wandering towards the market clock.

  ‘I hope we’ve not missed him, because we’re going home today, and I’ll never see him again,’ she muttered to herself.

  She remembered the boy’s shy smile from the bus, and it lifted her spirits.

  The idea of never seeing him again, though, made her feel miserable.

  When they’d first arrived at the market early that morning, Patrick had explained to Casey why the stall must be set out as it was now.

  ‘You need the taller stuff at the back of the stall, with the smaller items laid out in front. That way people can see everything, without shifting stuff about and causing a jumble, and you must remember to keep the really small pieces in the bric-a-brac box.’

  Casey was fascinated. ‘What’s a bric-a-brac box?’

  ‘It’s for keeping things in like hairpins an’ coins, an’ bits o’ fancy jewellery an’ such. Some of it can be worth a bob or two, an’ that’s why it needs to be at the side, where I can keep an eye on it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, ’cause there are too many folks wi’ nimble fingers, who would think nothing of dipping into the box and helping themselves.’

  Casey was learning by the minute. Earlier, he’d watched with interest as the merchandise had been brought out of the wagon, and he was fascinated by the seemingly endless stream of articles that emerged. There were many items of furniture; a great number of china vases and ornaments; various household stuff; and all manner of tools, some working and others, so Granddad Bob told him, needing repairs.

  There were toys of every description, including teddy bears, and a big selection of dolls, some wearing frocks and others totally naked, and even one wearing baggy trousers and a sailor’s hat.

  There was a rusty old doll’s pram, and a long iron ra
ck filled to bursting with second-hand clothes of all sizes and descriptions. The stall was alive with miscellaneous items, every one painstakingly laid out to display its best angle.

  ‘Patrick?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s a rag-tatter?’

  Patrick was surprised by Casey’s question. ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘Because the man on the food stall said you were a rag-tatter.’

  ‘Oh, did he now?’

  ‘Are you … a rag-tatter?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose I am.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well now, let me see.’ He scratched his nose and gave a little cough, then he tried to explain. ‘A rag-tatter is somebody who tatts round the streets, asking folks if they’ve any old rags or anything else they don’t want any more. If the man or woman of the house wants rid of something – like the grandma’s rusting old mangle in the back yard, or a suit that’s too small and been hanging in a wardrobe since the day of the wedding forty years back – they might give it to the rag-tatter, just to be rid of it. Or they might be moving house and don’t have room for all the furniture any more, so they’ll sort out what to keep and what to let go. The rag-tatter doesn’t mind, as long as he gets to sell it on for a bob or two.’

  He gave a great sigh of relief to have achieved his explanation. ‘So, does that answer your question?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  Patrick wasn’t listening. He was watching a child lift something from the stall but was relieved when the mother put the item back. ‘What’s on your mind, son?’ He returned his attention to the boy.

  Casey was curious. ‘Why don’t people sell their own stuff, and make “a bob or two” for themselves?’

  Patrick was horrified. ‘Heaven forbid! If they did that, how do you suppose poor old folk like me would make a living?’