Three Letters. Josephine Cox
‘I’ve promised to take mine down to the Lion’s Head. There’s a darts match on tonight.’
‘An’ I’m looking forward to my woman’s fish pie and chips … best you’ve ever tasted.’
Bill decided they were all cowards of one sort or another. ‘Go on then, clear off,’ he taunted jokingly. ‘Miserable buggers, the lot of you!’
The men collected their wage packets and left one by one, some for home, some to make their way down to the pub.
The last person to collect his wages was Tom Denton.
‘What’s bothering you, Tom lad?’ Bill had promised himself that he wouldn’t ask again, but he didn’t like seeing Tom so troubled. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, and today you’ve been miles away in your thoughts. Is there anything I can do?’
Tom forced a smile. ‘Like I said, I promised the boy. And … well, I’ve got things to do, you know how it is.’
That was no lie. And they were important things, too long neglected.
For what seemed an age, the older man studied Tom. He was saddened to see how Tom’s ready smile never quite reached his eyes, and how he occasionally glanced towards the door like a man trapped. ‘I’m concerned about you,’ Bill admitted.
‘You’ve no need to be.’
‘Mebbe, mebbe not, but I want you to know … if you’ve got worries gnawing at you, I’d like to help if I can.’
Tom gave a weary little grin. ‘Show me a man who hasn’t got worries gnawing at him, but I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.’
‘Just remember then, lad, I’m here if you need to talk. You can trust me. I hope you know I’m not a man to blab about other folks’ business.’
‘I know. But like I say, I’m fine.’
In truth, Tom was desperate to confide in someone – his foreman, his own father – but it would not change the situation. Because they could not help him, however much they might want to.
Thanking Bill once again for his concern, he bade him good night.
When Bill heard the outer door bang shut, he went across to the window and looked out into the rainy street. ‘Why, in God’s name, do you put up with her, Tom, lad?’ he muttered. ‘She’s a bad lot. You’d be better off without her … you and Casey both.’ He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘If you ask me, it’s high time you took your boy, and cleared off out of it!’
He continued to watch as Tom pulled down his flat cap, turned up his coat collar and hurried away.
Bill’s mind was still on Tom, as he carried out a tour of the factory, checking that everything was safe and secure. It’s a pity he ever met that damned woman, he thought angrily. She’s like a bitch on heat, and I for one would never put up with it … not for love nor money.’
He glanced out the window, but Tom was long gone. ‘He’s a decent sort,’ he muttered to himself, as he turned off the many lights. ‘The lad deserves better.’
Hurrying along the street, Tom was deep in thought. Having carefully examined the situation for the umpteenth time, he was convinced he had made the right decision for everyone concerned. Even so, he felt no satisfaction or joy; only guilt.
He hurried on. When the tears rolled down his face, he brushed them away. Don’t you falter now, Tom, he softly chided himself. You know in your heart there is no other way.
‘MAM!’
Having run up the stairs, the boy was about to open the bedroom door when he heard his mother yell out, ‘Casey, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mam.’ He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. ‘The door’s stuck.’ He gave it another shove but it stayed fast.
‘Stop pushing on it!’ Ruth yelled back. ‘I’ve locked it. I don’t want folks bursting into my room when I’m changing.’
Buxom and shapely, with flowing brown hair, and dark eyes, Ruth Denton was an attractive woman, except for her narrow lips and whiney voice.
‘Stop being a damned nuisance,’ she warned, ‘or you’ll feel the back of my hand across yer arse!’
‘You said we were having fish and chips tonight. If you give me some money, I’ll go and get them.’
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘But it’s ten past five. Dad’ll be home soon.’ He tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Get away from that door, and wait downstairs. I’ll not be long.’
‘That’s what you always say, and you still take ages.’ Putting his back to the door, Casey slid down into a crouched position. Slightly built, with thick brown hair and dark, striking eyes, he had his father’s kindly nature. ‘Mam?’
‘I thought I told you to clear off.’
‘Has the man gone?’
‘What man?’ Panic marbled her voice. ‘What are yer talking about? There’s no man ’ere!’
‘No, I mean just before, when I came up the street, I saw a man at the door. I thought you’d let him in.’
She gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Oh, that man? O’ course I didn’t let him in. I sent him packing.’
‘Did you? But I never saw him go.’ Casey’s instincts told him she was lying, and it wouldn’t be for the first time.
‘Just do as yer told!’ Ignoring his comment about ‘the man’, she softened her voice. ‘Go down now, Casey. I’ll be there directly with money for the fish an’ chips.’
There followed a long pause, causing her to believe he’d gone.
‘Little sod! He’s eight years old, going on eighty!’ Snuggling up to the man’s naked body, Ruth ran her fingers down his neck. ‘I were counting on the two of us having a good hour together, and now he’s gone and ruined it.’
The man reached out and tweaked her erect nipple. ‘Aw, well,’ he sighed, ‘next time, mebbe. When the brat’s at school.’
‘MAM!’
‘For pity’s sake, I told yer to go downstairs!’
‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Nobody!’
‘I thought I heard somebody.’
‘Well, that were probably me, talking to myself, like a crazy woman. It’s you that sends me crazy, allus hanging about, spying on me at every turn. Do like I say and sod off downstairs.’
‘There’s nothing to do.’
‘Well … find summat to do. Clean your dad’s guitar, if you want. Just busy yerself till I come down.’
‘But I need you to come down now. I need to get the fish and chips. Dad’ll be hungry.’
‘By, yer a persistent little git, aren’t yer, eh?’ Grabbing her shoe from the floor, she threw it at the door, where it landed with a thump. ‘I’ll not tell you again! Just get off out of it. D’you hear me?’
‘Can I really clean Dad’s guitar?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, yeah … I expect so.’ She knew how much that guitar meant to Tom. His own father had taught him to play it when he was even younger than Casey was now.
Some years ago, when his father contracted arthritis in his fingers and couldn’t play it any more, he handed the guitar down to Tom.