Three Letters

It was a moment before he realised that he’d actually walked right past the bus stop. Turning to go back, he was dismayed to see the bus had already set off. ‘Dammit!’ That would put another half-hour onto the journey home.

No matter. At least he now had more time to think, and to plan. There must be no regrets, and he must make sure that the boy was safe. That, above all else, was the important thing.

When the slight rainfall became a real downpour, he quickened his steps through the town to King Street, where he saw the queue in the fish-and-chip shop. When the aroma drifted towards him, his stomach began rumbling.

I wonder if Ruth’s cooked us a meal, he thought, quickening his pace towards the lights of the chip shop. I bet she hasn’t. I bet our Casey’s not been fed … again.

Countless times he’d got home to find that Ruth was out and Casey was searching the cupboard for food. Keeping house and seeing to the boy’s welfare were never his wife’s priorities.

He ducked into the fish-and-chip shop. When his turn came, he ordered, ‘Fish and chips three times, please.’

‘Got caught out in the rain, did yer?’ The woman had a round, rosy face and a kindly voice, much like his own mother, who had died shortly before he’d married Ruth. Suddenly, Tom wondered if his mother, looking down, would be ashamed at his plans. He truly hoped not.

He forced a smile. ‘The rain’s coming down hard,’ he remarked. ‘I reckon it’ll settle in for the night now.’ He found it amazing how he could converse so casually about something and nothing, when he was intent on a deed so dark and drastic that lives would be changed for ever.

The woman dished the food into the paper bags. ‘D’yer want salt and vinegar, young man?’

‘Yeah … go on then, but not too much, eh?’

‘Have yer far to go wi’ these?’

‘Only to Henry Street.’

‘Hmm! That’s still a good long stride an’ no mistake.’ She regarded him with interest. Seeing how wet he was, and how sad he seemed, she suggested, ‘You go and sit yersel’ in that chair over by the window. I’ll put these on the fryer to keep warm, then I’ll mek yer a pot o’ tea … no charge, mind. It’s on the house.’

‘I need to get back,’ Tom explained graciously. ‘I missed my bus so I’ve had to walk, but I’m almost home now. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be in the warm. Thank you all the same.’

She was genuinely disappointed. ‘Aye, well, I expect you’re eager to get home to yer good woman, eh?’

Tom gave a wry little smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’ He wished Ruth could realise how she had damaged his love by her rejection of Casey, together with her infidelity to himself.

Often it felt to Tom that there were only two people in the whole world that mattered to him now. They were his father, Bob, and his son, Casey; and may God forgive him, for he was about to hurt them badly.

‘There you are, son.’ The kindly woman tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Oh!’ Tom apologised, ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘Are you all right?’ She’d seen the faraway look in his eyes and, being a mother herself, she suspected he was unhappy. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve a son about your age, and I know how some things can get you down.’ She smiled. ‘Money worries, is it?’

‘No, we manage well enough, I reckon,’ Tom assured her.

‘Oh, well then, it’ll be woman trouble,’ she tutted. ‘It’s allus woman trouble … at least with my son it is. She’s already left him twice and come back with her tail between her legs. I tell him straight, you’d be better off without her, but he never listens—’

She would have ranted on, but Tom interrupted, ‘No, it’s not woman trouble, but thanks for your interest.’ She meant well, he thought, but from what she was saying, it sounded as though she might have troubles of her own.

‘Right then!’ She handed him the bag of food. ‘I’ve double-wrapped them in newspaper so they should still be nice and hot by the time yer get home.’

Wishing her well, Tom opened his wage packet, settled the bill, and left.

He knew Ruth would not be too pleased about him dipping into the wage packet. No doubt she would launch into one of her tantrums.

Besides, he had no intention of being drawn into an argument, especially not tonight of all nights, when he had other pressing matters on his mind.

With the three meals bagged up and tucked under his coat to keep warm, he quickened his pace towards home. The sooner it’s done, the better, he told himself. There’s no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

It wasn’t long before he was approaching Henry Street.

As he crossed the little Blakewater bridge, he paused, holding the meals safe with one hand, while with the other, he frantically searched his coat pockets for the front door key.

Still digging about in his pockets, determined to find the key, he set off again. By this time, he was only minutes away from his front door.

The closer he got to the house, the more he despaired at the thought of what he must do, and how it would devastate those he loved.

Oh, Tom, have you really thought it through? Not for the first time he questioned himself. You must know what it will do to that lad o’ yours?

Momentarily distraught, he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and his heart heavy. It’s a terrible thing you’re planning, Tom, he admitted … a terrible, sinful thing.

Raising his gaze to the skies, he asked softly, ‘Please, Lord, don’t punish the boy for my bad actions. Look after him, Lord. Don’t let him come to any harm.’ When the tears threatened, he took a deep breath and continued on; his pace now slow and laboured. But his determination remained unswerving.

Nothing, not his crippling sense of guilt nor the deep concern he felt for his father, nor even his complete devotion to the boy, could change his mind. Not when the alternative could prove to be even more painful. Not when he knew that whichever road he took, all would be lost anyway.

Upstairs, Tom’s wife and the trusted workmate were parting company.

‘Ssh!’

While the man frantically dressed, Ruth ran onto the land­ing and listened. Nervous, she fled back into the bed­room. ‘There’s somebody outside the front door. You’d best be quick!’

She grabbed the money he was offering, then took him by the arm and led him quickly and silently onto the landing, where she peered down.

‘It’s all clear … hurry!’ She ran him down the stairs. ‘Go out the back way.’ Keeping one wary eye on the front door, she hissed, ‘Through the scullery and out, along the ginnel. Be quick, dammit!’ She shoved Len towards the back rooms.

Relieved to hear that Tom was chatting with someone outside the front door, she fled swiftly back up the stairs and into the bedroom where, breathless and excited, she hid her shameful earnings in a purpose-made slit in the hem of the curtain linings.

She then went to the mirror, where she wiped away the heavy make-up and tidied her hair.

On checking herself in the mirror, she wagged a finger at the reflected image. ‘One o’ these days, my girl, if yer not careful, you’ll be caught out, sure as eggs are eggs!’ The thought of her conquest fleeing through the alley­ways with his underpants on back to front and his trouser-belt dangling, had her stifling a giggle.

Outside, Tom bade the neighbour good night. ‘Mind how you go, Mick, lad.’ The amiable old man was away to get his regular pint of ale at the local. He was often too early, but the landlord always let him in, and no one ever complained. Even the local bobby looked the other way.

Impatient, Tom struggled with the fish and chips, finally found his key, and slid the key in the lock. Just then, out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone running out of the ginnel some way down the street. For a split second he thought he recognised the figure. But it was dark, the man was quickly gone from sight, and now he was not altogether certain.

Tom shook his head, No … it couldn’t be Len, he thought. What in God’s name would he be doing running out of a ginnel, and here of all places? Besides, as I recall, he sent word to the foreman, to say he was having some teeth taken out.

Looking again at the shadowy place where the figure had disappeared, a niggling thought crossed his mind. Then he glanced up at the front bedroom, where the light was on. ‘No …’ He dared not allow himself to believe what was running through his mind: the shocking idea of his wife and Len … up there in his own bed. All the same, he knew from experience that it was not an impossibility. Don’t be so bloody stupid! Len’s a good mate! he angrily dispatched the wicked idea from his mind.

But the seed was sown. Maybe it really was Len running out of the ginnel. ‘You’re wrong.’ he muttered angrily. ‘Take a grip of yourself, man!’

Opening the door, he entered the house, and called out his son’s name. ‘Casey! Casey, where are you?’