Three Letters

He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, I can’t help but feel you’re not telling me everything.’

Resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he asked him outright, ‘Be honest with me, son. Is there summat you’re not saying? Summat else that’s caused you to turn your back on house and home? Though God knows, what with yer wife carrying on like that, and then upsetting that little lad, that’s more than enough to send a man off the rails. All the same, I need you to be honest with me. So, is there summat?’ He looked Tom in the eye. ‘You can trust me, son. Whatever it is, you know I’m here to help.’

Sidestepping his father’s direct question, Tom shook his head. ‘You already know the problem, and now here you are, right in the middle of it, when I should be dealing with it myself. I’m sorry, Dad. I truly never meant for that to happen.’ Casting his gaze to the floor, he finished lamely, ‘Truth is, things have got on top of me, and I can’t help but wonder … how will it all end.’

‘Tom, now you listen to me!’ Struck by Tom’s heartfelt words, Bob told him firmly, ‘I’m all right with being caught up in your troubles. When a family’s in need, we all pull together, isn’t that the way it’s allus been? If I needed a home, I know you would never turn me away. We’re family, and families look after each other. God willing, I’ll be here for you for as long as the Good Lord sees fit to let me live. D’you understand me, son? If you’re in trouble, it’s my trouble as well, and so long as I’ve got a roof over my head, so have you and the boy … even Ruth, if she ever saw fit to mend her ways. So, we’ll ’ave no more o’ this thanking me, and worrying yerself stupid.’

He paused, before speaking firmly: ‘I’ve asked you once, and now I’ll ask again. Is there summat you’re not telling me?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What I mean is, while I understand about Ruth and her bad ways, I can’t help but feel, in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘that you’re deliberately holding summat back. Are yer?’

Again, Tom skirted the question as honestly as he could. ‘Dad! I’ve told you what happened,’ he said.

‘And that’s everything, is it?’

Tom forced a cynical little laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Mmm.’ The old man was still not altogether satisfied, but as he was dog-tired, anything else could wait until morning. ‘All right, son.’ He patted Tom on the shoulder. ‘I’m off to my bed now, and from the look of you I reckon you need to do the same.’ He was concerned at Tom’s appearance: the dark, hollow patches under his eyes, and that forsaken look that took away his smile. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, son. Don’t stay up too late, and remember, you and the boy are all right here with me. I’m well suited wi’ that.’

‘Good night then, Dad. Thanks.’

Still troubled, Bob went carefully up the narrow, winding staircase. At the top, he turned towards the bedroom where Casey was sleeping soundly.

For a while, he stood by the bed, looking tenderly down on that strong little face. Well, lad, it sounds like you and yer father have had a real bad time of it, he thought. ‘But thank God, you’re safe now, and while I’m ’ere to watch over yer, you’ll come to no harm. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I’m not such an old fool I don’t know when my own son is troubled.’

Looking on the boy again, Bob’s face wreathed in a smile.

Mind you, I’m old and addled, and I could be imagining things. I mean, I’ve been wrong afore, an’ who’s to say I’m not wrong now? Not to worry, eh, lad? The truth is, we all need a good night’s sleep. Things will likely look a whole lot better in the morning.

Leaning down, he gently kissed the boy’s forehead. ‘You’ve no need to fret about the guitar, lad,’ he whispered, ‘because your old gramp will get it fixed. You’ll see, one way or another, you’ll be playing like a good ’un in no time at all.’

He gazed fondly on the boy a moment longer, then he went softly to the door, where he gave a last look back before ambling on to his own bedroom.

Walking carefully to avoid the creaking boards on the landing, he heard the clock strike the eleventh hour, and the downstairs radio playing soft music.

‘Go to bed, son,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Today was a bad ’un, but tomorrow is a new day altogether.’

With that thought in mind he went to his bed hoping that, when tomorrow came, his son might be more able to confide in his old dad.

Downstairs in the back parlour, Tom sat at the small table.

With his eyes closed and the palms of his hands covering his head, he made no attempt to wipe away the tears that ran freely down his face.

Instead, he searched his mind for a way out; a way that would cause the least distress; a way that might allow them to forgive him.