Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

‘But it’s their stuff.’

  Patrick explained, ‘They don’t mind, and anyway I’m doing them a favour. I’m taking away their rubbish, which they’re glad to be rid of it. What’s more, I’m equipped to deal with it, while they wouldn’t even know where to start. First of all, they don’t have a wagon to carry the stuff, and secondly, they don’t have the salesmanship to sell it. And that’s where I come in. As you know, I have a fine wagon. I am also a very good salesman, as your granddad Bob will tell you.’ Feeling important, he drew himself to his full height. ‘If I say so myself, I’m the best man for the job. I’ve been at it most of my life and my father before me. So there you have it, and that’s that!’

  Casey began to realise over the course of the morning that what came out of the back of that wagon might seem like a load of old rubbish to some, but to a fine self-made businessman like Patrick, it was money in his pocket.

  ‘Right! Here we are.’ Puffing and panting, Granddad Bob returned with three glasses of sarsaparilla, most of it running down his arm where he’d been jostled by the people. ‘By! Yer should see the folks arriving now,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s getting really busy out there.’

  He knew how a market attracted all manner of people. Everyone loved the excitement of the coloured awnings and noisy traders; and the countless choices from a vast array of merchandise.

  These would-be customers came from all walks of life. Some were professional buyers. These were easy enough to spot, with their notepads and pencils, and often discreet little eye-glasses in their top pockets, useful for examining the marks on the bases of vases.

  Others, with far slimmer wallets, might be on the lookout for second-hand items to suit their own personal requirements.

  ‘Hey! These glasses are only half filled!’ Patrick glowered at his old friend. ‘What did you do, have a sly drink or two on your way back?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. They’ve spilled over ’cause folks kept bumping into me. I never wanted to fetch the drinks in the first place, as well you know. But I’ll tell yer what, next time, yer can fetch ’em yerself.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing!’ As usual, Patrick gave as good as he got. ‘My job is to do the selling and yours is to fetch the drinks. That’s the way it’s allus been!’

  ‘I never said I minded fetching the drinks, did I? But I do mind being moaned at, through no fault of my own.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Patrick apologised. ‘I’m a miserable old sod, aren’t I?’

  ‘Hmm! Yer can say that again.’

  ‘So, are we still friends?’

  ‘Go on then.’ Bob raised his glass. ‘Here’s to us.’

  Chinking glasses with his old friend, Patrick drank the entire lot in one go. ‘Phaw!’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sure, ye can’t beat a glass of sarsaparilla … or half a glass, if you see what I mean?’

  ‘Don’t you start again!’

  ‘I’m not. It’s just that I’ve a favour to ask.’ Holding up his empty glass, he gestured towards the drinks table. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might—’

  ‘No, there isn’t.’ The old fella was adamant. ‘If yer want another drink, yer can fetch it yersel’. I’m not fighting my way back through that lot, not even for a gold clock.’ And Patrick was left in no doubt that he meant it.

  ‘When can I play the guitar, Patrick?’ Casey had helped set up the stall, and waited around all morning, so now he was eager to play for the crowds.

  Patrick understood. ‘You’ve been very patient, so ye have.’ He drew out an old orange box. ‘Here. Sit yerself on that, and start playing whenever ye like.’

  In truth, Patrick was a little nervous. He couldn’t be sure whether the customers would appreciate the boy’s considerable musical talents, or be put off from buying. Some people were funny like that. They came to market for a bargain. As a rule, they had little time to stand and listen.

  Granddad Bob, though, had no doubts whatsoever. ‘Don’t be nervous, lad,’ he quietly encouraged his grandson. ‘All you need to do is play from the heart, like always.’ He paused before adding quietly, ‘I taught yer daddy to play the guitar when he were about your age. Mind you, neither me nor yer daddy could ever put the heart and soul into a tune the same way you do. It’s like … well, it’s like you were born with a natural instinct for the music.’

  ‘That’s what Daddy told me. “You bring the guitar to life,” he told me, “and when you sing, it’s like there’s only you and the guitar in the whole wide world.”’

  ‘Well, there yer go, lad. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.’

  ‘Granddad?’

  ‘Yes, lad?’

  With big, soulful eyes, the boy looked up at him, and each knew what the other was thinking.

  In a small, broken voice, Casey said, ‘I wish my daddy was here.’

  ‘I know, lad.’ The old fella shared his pain. ‘He can’t be here and, hard as it is, you and me both … well, lad we’ll just have to try and get used to it.’

  ‘Do you think he might be listening?’

  With tears clouding his old eyes, Granddad Bob put on a smile and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I’m sure he’s up there right now, looking down on the pair of us, an’ I know he’ll be giving you all the strength you need. So, go to it, lad. Just play the music, an’ mek’ the people smile.’

  He winked encouragingly. ‘Remember what yer daddy taught yer, and play the music like he’s right there standing beside yer. Oh, but he’ll be that proud, he’ll have a smile on him wide as the River Mersey.’ He glanced at the people mooching about the stalls. ‘They’re all here, waiting for you to start. So bring ’em in, lad,’ he murmured. ‘Bring ’em in.’ Taking out his big hanky, he wrapped it round his nose and blew hard, then slyly dabbed away his tears.

  When Casey began to play, the people inched nearer, enthralled by the boy and his music. When he started softly singing, they stayed to look and listen, and to enjoy.

  Casey was nervous, until he remembered what his granddad had said – that his daddy would give him strength – and believing that, his heart grew quiet.

  Lured by Casey’s voice and the accompanying music, young Susie broke away from Steve and Alice to run ahead, pushing through the growing crowd, until she was so close, she could have reached out and touched him.

  Lost in the song, Casey did not see her. His sensitive young fingers moved softly against the guitar strings, the rhythmic sound mingling with the purity of his voice. The voice was still immature, yet passionate and emotional, in perfect harmony with the music, and the silent crowd were mesmerised.

  Just an arm’s reach away, the two old men watched.

  In Casey, they found Tom. They saw the teachings of the father living on in the boy, and in the pride and wonder of this boy’s natural talent was a great well of sorrow for the loss of his daddy.

  And yet, in a way, the music and the emotion somehow transcended the sorrow. All was well.

  Concerned that Susie could get lost in the crowd, Alice and Steve also pushed their way to the front.

  ‘He’s got the most beautiful voice,’ Alice remarked softly, ‘soft and easy, as though he’s talking just to you, and you can believe every word he sings.’

  Steve made no comment, being too engrossed in the boy’s performance.

  Deeply moved and quietly excited, he believed he may have stumbled on a unique talent. True, the voice was not yet honed to perfection, but it was there, like an uncut diamond waiting to be shaped and polished.

  In all his professional years, he had never witnessed such raw talent. ‘He has a haunting kind of voice,’ he said softly to Alice. ‘He doesn’t just sing the song, he lives it. He feels it, every word, every note.’

  Alice had never seen Steve like this; it was as though he was alone here, and all he could see and hear was the talent within that small boy.

  So thrilled he could hardly contain himself, Steve knew without a doubt that he was witnessing a star in the maki
ng. And he couldn’t wait to call his colleagues.

  Suddenly it was over, and the crowd went crazy. ‘More!’ they shouted, and more they got. Even the stall-holders came to listen.

  Two of the stallholders came up behind Steve, and he couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. Like all the locals, these men knew of the recent tragedy that had affected the family, and their hearts went out to the boy.

  ‘What the Good Lord takes away in one hand, he gives back in the other,’ one man said, while the other replied earnestly, ‘True, but it’s not the ones who are gone that suffer. It’s them as are left behind. And that little lad there … well, to give a performance like that, after the tragedy and all. It’s unbelievable, when the poor little devil must be hurting so bad.’

  Steve was curious. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked the stocky fellow with the most to say. ‘What tragedy?’

  Wary of strangers, the man backed away. ‘I’m not one for gossip,’ he said, ‘but the boy’s granddad is stood over there.’ He pointed to Bob. ‘If you really want to know, you should ask him. I doubt if he’ll want to talk about it, though; especially with young Casey being here.’

  With the crowd moving forward to congratulate the boy and throw coins into his hat, Steve went to speak with the old man, while Alice and Susie went to speak with the child.

  ‘I told you he was wonderful!’ Holding onto Alice’s hand, Susie pressed forward. ‘I said he was good. I told you, didn’t I? Do you think he’ll remember me from the bus? Will he talk to me, do you think?’ She tugged at Alice’s skirt. ‘Hurry up, Mummy, before we lose him again!’

  Alice had to run to keep up with her.

  ‘LOOK OUT! THE BUGGERS ARE ROBBING JACK’S STALL!’

  When the cry went up, Jack and the other stall-holders ran off to nab the thieves, who were already fleeing with their haul. This left the way clear for Susie to approach the boy.

  Casey recognised Susie straight away. ‘You were on the bus,’ he said shyly. ‘I remember.’

  Alice made the introductions. ‘This is Susie, and I’m her mother, Alice.’

  ‘Hello, I’m Casey.’ He was at a loss as to what he should do or say, though he thought Susie was very pretty, and had a nice smile.

  ‘Your music was lovely,’ Susie told him, ‘and I like your singing.’ She also was a bit embarrassed. It was one thing smiling at a boy on the bus, but here and now, face to face, she felt awkward.

  ‘Who taught you to play like that?’ Secretly amused, Alice sensed the awkwardness between these two youngsters.

  ‘My daddy taught me to play the guitar.’ Somehow, talking of his daddy to strangers gave Casey a sense of comfort. When he and his granddad talked about his daddy, they both got very sad, but it didn’t feel like that when he talked to this nice woman. Instead, he felt proud, and happy.

  He invited them to sit down on an upturned orange box, while he entertained them with lively descriptions of his daddy. He told them how the guitar had been handed down from his granddad Bob, though he was careful not to mention how his mummy had deliberately broken the guitar in a temper.

  As the three of them contentedly chatted, Casey felt more happy and relaxed than he had done in a very long time.

  Not too far away from where Casey and his visitors were chatting, Steve was deep in conversation with Granddad Bob.

  ‘I’m glad you think he could be a real star.’ The old fella was excited that Casey had been noticed by a man who seemed important in the music business. ‘Though to me and them as knows him, Casey has always been a little star,’ he finished proudly.

  ‘I’m sure he has.’ Steve sensed the resistance. ‘I know I’m a stranger to you, and I know I’m asking a lot, but it’s very rare to find such a gift, like the one your grandson possesses. OK, it will need work, and it will take time, but he has it in him to be a major talent.’

  Awkward as ever, the old fella reminded the visitor, ‘Happen he’ll not want to be a “major talent”.’

  ‘You’re right. Maybe he won’t, but have you ever asked him? Has he told you what he would like to do with his life?’ He suspected the boy would leap at the chance to make music his life.

  ‘And if he does say he wants to make a career out of his talents, what would happen next?’ Granddad Bob fully intended to tread carefully.

  ‘Well, first off I would talk to a colleague of mine. He’s ex-band; now a respected manager. He’s a man who knows his stuff. If you let me call him with my opinion of the boy’s exceptional talent, he’ll want to hear your grandson perform. No doubt he’ll make his way north, so he can hear young Casey for himself.’

  ‘And if he wants to tek him on, what then?’

  ‘Well, that will be up to Casey’s immediate family – his parents perhaps.’

  ‘That can’t be.’ The old fella put him right straight away. ‘Casey’s an orphan. I’m his family now, his only family!’ Memories of Ruth darkened his manner.

  Steve was shocked. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise, though I did overhear someone say there had been a tragedy …’

  ‘Listen to me, young man! All you need to know is that I’m the boy’s family – me, an’ nobody else. Casey is my only grandchild. He lives with me and, like I say, the lad’s got nobody else. So, I look after him. I provide for him, and I take good care of him. An’ that’s an end to it.’

  ‘I understand, and of course in that situation everything will be channelled through you, Mr … ?’

  ‘It’s Bob!’ He was beginning to warm towards this young man; especially as he seemed genuine in his claim to help Casey.

  ‘And I’m Steve.’ He shook the old fella’s hand. ‘I want you to know, I’ve been in the music business for some time, and I’m really impressed by your grandson’s performance just now. I’m particularly impressed by the confident manner in which he plays the guitar, and his voice is unique. It has that easy, emotional quality that many singers spend a lifetime trying to perfect.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Was he ever tutored by a professional?’

  ‘No, he’s never been to anyone of that nature. Mind you, I taught myself to play the guitar when I were young. Then I taught my son, Tom, and he taught the boy. It were a family pastime, so to speak.’

  ‘And he’s had no singing lessons at all?’

  ‘Never.’

  The old fella recalled one particular time Casey sang for them. ‘It were a Christmas Day, as I remember. Casey were just six year old. We’d finished our Christmas dinner and I played a tune on the guitar – “White Christmas” – it were one of his late grandma’s favourite songs and that day, me and his mammy and daddy sang it to him. Afterwards, we were sitting chatting, the three of us together, when suddenly the lad started singing. I don’t mind tellin’ yer, it were a real eye-opener. We couldn’t believe it. He sang all the way through, every word, all in perfect tune, and his voice … well, it were like that of a little angel. Since then, you can often hear him singing, especially when he plays the guitar.’ His face beamed with pride. ‘He sang at the school concert last year, and everyone got up and clapped.’

  Bob shook his head as though in disbelief. ‘Where he got his musical talent from, Lord only knows. It certainly weren’t from me, nor really from his daddy, although Tom was quite good. As for his mammy, soon ever the lad opened his mouth to sing, or even speak, she’d be down his throat like a mad dog … telling him to be quiet … that nobody wanted to hear him sing …’ the old fella’s voice tailed off.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Steve felt the need to apologise.

  ‘No need. It’s me that should be sorry, for ’avin’ brought it up. Sadly, things were not all that good between his parents. But that’s not for me to say, and nor for you to worry about, ’cause they’re not here; neither of ’em, more’s the pity.’

  There were many occasions of late – much like today with Casey performing for the crowds – when Bob wondered about Ruth, and his heart was heavy.

  Steve was fascinated by the lad�
�s background. ‘Well, it’s obvious that somewhere along the way, one of your past relatives had an instinct for the music, and it’s found its way down to the boy. It’s a gift, and it needs nurturing.’

  ‘Hey! Don’t get ahead of yersel’, fella. Nothing’s been decided yet.’

  Steve quickly curbed his enthusiasm. ‘I’m sorry, but look, Bob, if you want me to go away, I’ll go away. But I promise you, I don’t want to do anything that will in any way upset you, or Casey.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Bob had a good feeling about this fella. ‘All right, I reckon I believe yer. I might even be tempted to trust yer, but I need to be sure.’

  Steve was encouraged. ‘So, can I call my colleague? Can I run it by him and see what he thinks?’

  ‘I expect so, but afore yer do that, you and me had better get to grips with what you have in mind, ’cause whatever the man might think, and whatever me and you talk about, you need to understand, it’s Casey who has the last word.’

  ‘Of course. That goes without saying.’

  ‘Good. So go ahead, make your call, and if you come to my house when you’re all sorted, we’ll all three of us discuss what’s on offer.’

  Collecting a pen from the stall he scribbled his address on a piece of wrapping paper and handed it to Steve. ‘Meantime, I’ll talk to the lad an’ see what he has to say.’

  Steve thanked him. Then they shook hands and went their separate ways.

  The old fella hurried off, eager to relay the news to Patrick; though he had decided that it would be unwise to tell Casey anything until he had received certain reassurances from Steve. And even then, he would be guarding the boy’s wellbeing every step of the way.

  Meanwhile, Steve went in search of Susie and Alice. He found them at a cockle stall. ‘We saw you talking to the boy’s grandfather,’ Alice said, ‘so we thought we’d have a quick look round.’

  ‘Look, Uncle Steve,’ Susie held up a piece of paper, ‘.?.?.? me and Casey are friends now. He gave me his address, and Mummy let me give him ours, and now we’re going to write to each other.’

  ‘Really?’ Steve held out the piece of paper with the scribble on. ‘Snap! I’ve got an address too, and as soon as I can get hold of Jim, I’ll be discussing Casey’s musical future. Tomorrow, I’ll be reporting to Casey’s grandfather.’