Three Letters (15 page)

He could hear Granddad Bob at the door. He was talking to the officers, and then they were inside, going down the passage. Peeping over the banister, Casey could see them: Granddad Bob had his head bent, and was going ever so slowly towards the back parlour, with the two police officers following behind. It seemed to Casey that they were moving too slowly, too
quietly, and the silence was almost deafening.

The feeling of dread that Casey had experienced earlier was much stronger now; like a hard, choking lump in his throat.

Softly, nervously, he crept down the stairs and sat on the last but one step. From here, he could listen without being seen. He was angry.
She
had done this. She wanted his dad to be put away, but Casey was adamant he wouldn’t
let them do that. When he told them the truth, they would understand. His mam was a liar and a bully.

In the back parlour, Tom’s father fell heavily into his old armchair, his ashen face stained with tears and his heart heavier than any man could bear.

For what seemed an age, he did not utter one word, nor did he look at the two men. Instead, keeping his face down, he reached out and taking
Tom’s open letter from the side table, he held it up to them.

The senior officer took the letter and read it, then handed it to his colleague. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton.’ Sympathy was all he could offer. ‘I’m very sorry.’

The officer went on, ‘From the papers your son had in his pocket, we discovered his home address. We went round there first, but there was no one in. The neighbour said there’d
been a row of sorts, and soon after your son left, his wife took off and hasn’t been seen since.’

Straining to listen, but unable to hear clearly what was being said, Casey shifted down to the next step. Peering carefully round the corner, he saw Granddad Bob in the chair, looking older and sadder than he had ever seen him before. The two stern-faced officers were standing over him.

Casey wanted
to go to find out why Granddad Bob was crying, but he was too afraid. Something was very wrong. If his mam really had sent them to take his dad away, they would be asking where he was, and Granddad would show them the door. But it wasn’t like that, and Casey’s fear was heightened.

What did they want? Why were they here?

Casey quickly pulled back when the officer addressed the old man.

‘When
did you know about this letter?’

‘I found it this morning, when I woke up.’ There was a muffled sob while Granddad Bob discreetly wiped his eyes. ‘It was propped up on my bedside cabinet.’

‘And before you found this letter, did you have any idea of what he meant to do?’

The old man shook his head.

‘And you had no idea of what he’s explained in the letter … the obvious cause of his distress?’

He was greeted with silence.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton, but I have to ask these questions. I know this is painful for you, but even though we now have the letter, I am obliged to verify the reason for us being here and, like I say, I know how difficult this must be for you.’ His voice was warm, his manner caring. ‘You did understand what I was saying to you at the door?’

The old man looked up, his
voice breaking as he said softly, ‘I know what you told me, and I have the letter. But … I can’t seem to get it into my head.’ His face was haggard. ‘I can’t make myself believe … ?’ Racked with grief, he lowered his head and sobbed; unable to discuss it any more.

Leaning forward on the step, Casey was aching to go to his granddad, but when he saw the younger officer glance his way, he dodged
back, his instinct to remain hidden.

Deeply moved by the old man’s distress, the officer stooped to his level. ‘It’s all right, old fella.’ He laid his hand over Bob’s trembling fist. ‘I’m sorry … I truly am, but you do need to hear what I’m telling you, because sadly, I’m afraid it is true, although as I’m sure you understand, there are other steps to be taken before we know for certain.’ He
was careful not to go into detail of how they had discovered the pitiful remains of a young man, together with proof of his identity.

He explained in reverent tone, ‘Mrs Dolly Pritchard gave us enough of a description to tie it all together as best we could under the circumstances.’ He went quickly on, ‘Also, we recovered the remains of two documents, which we’ve already shown you, and which
you’ve identified as belonging to your son.’

Leaving Casey’s granddad to reflect on that, the officer lifted his gaze to the photograph on the sideboard. It tied in with the smaller, damaged photo they’d discovered on the tracks earlier that morning.

‘That’s your son, isn’t it, Mr Denton?’

The old man looked up, his eyes raw from the crying, ‘Yes, that’s Tom,’ he confirmed. ‘And there’s his
own darling son alongside.’ He pointed a shaking finger at the figure of Casey.

His thoughts were now for the little boy. Dear God above, how would he tell him that his father had thrown himself under a train and was killed instantly?

How would the child cope when, even to his own weathered old mind, it beggared belief that Tom would do such a wicked thing? But then, who was he to know how a
man’s mind might work, when faced with the agonising decision that had haunted Tom?

Still reluctant to believe it, he asked the officer for the second time, ‘Tell me again … what happened?’

‘Like I explained, we investigated a call some hours ago. A woman living nearby was out looking for her little dog, and she stopped to talk with the young man, who we now believe to be your son. As she walked
away, some instinct made her turn back, and she actually saw him slide from the bridge wall. She then ran to a neighbour’s house, and he raised the alarm. We responded swiftly, but it was already too late. There was absolutely nothing anyone could do. I’m so sorry.’

Crouched down out of sight on the step, Casey was confused. Sometimes when the officer spoke quietly he could hardly hear what was
being said, but he could hear his granddad’s quiet sobbing, and it tore through him like a rush of cold wind.

‘This woman …’ His granddad’s trembling voice was so low, Casey dared to lean forward in order to hear him, ‘… who is this woman? What exactly did she tell you?’

Now the younger officer stepped forward, while the first one was grateful for the chance to take a deep breath and compose
himself, for although they were used to such visits, this particular duty was especially harrowing. ‘As my colleague said, her name is Dolly Pritchard. She’s a widow, and she lives opposite the railway bridge at Mill Hill …’

While he explained the event in a sensitive, careful manner, Casey sat bolt upright on the stairs, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of it all.

His mind was flooded
with all manner of questions. That officer said some woman called Dolly had stopped to ask his dad about a dog, and now the police were here, and Granddad Bob was crying. What was all this about? When did it happen, and why was his dad on the railway bridge at Mill Hill? And, where was his dad now?

‘Where did you say he was when she stopped to ask him about the dog?’ The old man was trying hard
to piece it all together, but it was difficult. His reasoning was all over the place and it was all too much. Way too much! He didn’t want to listen, but he knew he had to. ‘My son … where was he when he spoke to the woman? Where was he … exactly?’

‘Like I said before,’ the officer was more than willing to explain again in view of the old man’s distress and confusion, ‘the young man we believe
to be your son was standing on the railway bridge at Mill Hill.’

For a minute, Bob remained silent, appearing not to have heard, and then, as the information settled in his mind, the fragments came together and formed a heartbreaking picture. ‘The railway bridge at Mill Hill you say? Oh, dear God, no!’

In his mind, the old man drifted back to the days when he would take Tom to watch the trains
going under Mill Hill bridge. Anne would pack them a bag of sandwiches and a flask, and they would camp out on the bridge, waiting for each train as it came flying in. They would laugh when the steam rose and momentarily shrouded them, and later they would take the long walk home to Addison Street, talking through their happy time when trainspotting.

Bob smiled through his tears. ‘Mill Hill were
allus a special place to me and my boy.’

Suddenly it was like he could not hold in the pain any longer, and his cries were heart-rending. ‘All them years I took him to that bridge. It were ours … our own special place, and now I don’t know what to think.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘Why in God’s name would he do such a terrible thing?’ He began to rock back and forth.

Moved by the old
man’s pain, the older officer leaned close and in a gentle voice he told him, ‘Maybe it was the only place he could go, because in his mind he imagined he would be with you. Maybe that bridge and the train were the last things he needed to see, because that was where he spent some of the happiest times of his life.’

Leaning into the chair Bob gave a whimsical little smile. ‘Aye … mebbe.’ He hoped
that was what Tom had thought: that he would leave this world with a picture of himself and his father in that very spot. They were good memories, and maybe that truly was the reason why Tom had chosen that place. The thought offered him small comfort, though at the same time, he felt angry and sad. And, oh, so very lonely. And yet, he had young Casey, Tom’s son, his own dear grandson.

‘This
woman, Mrs Pritchard, what exactly did she see?’

The officer answered in a quiet voice, ‘Only that he was leaning on the wall, and when she turned round, he appeared to have climbed up onto the wall, and then he just … well, she wasn’t sure whether it was done on purpose, or whether he fell accidentally.’ He pointed to the letter. ‘As to that, I believe your son’s letter appears to answer that
question.’

Listening on the stairs, Casey understood his dad had been sitting on the wall on the railway bridge at Mill Hill, and that something might, or might not have happened.

But what was that to do with his dad, and what was the letter they kept talking about? Granddad was crying, but why? And where was his dad?

Suddenly he could bear it no longer. Bursting into the room, he demanded
to know, ‘Where’s my dad? What’s happened to him? I WANT MY DAD!’ When the tears flooded his eyes, Granddad was on his feet, holding out his arms to take him.

‘Oh, lad! Were you listening? Tell me what you heard.’

But Casey was adamant. ‘Where’s my dad? I want my dad!’

The old man moved towards him, his arms open wide and his voice trembling. ‘Oh, lad let me take you back upstairs. Then we’ll
talk you and me.’

Backing away, Casey would not be quietened. ‘I want my dad!’ He confronted the police officers. ‘What ’ave you done with my dad? Where is he? What’s happened to him?’

When the younger officer made towards him, Casey ran along the passage and out the door, yelling as he went, ‘Leave me alone! I’m going to find my dad, and you can’t stop me!’

Bob was frantic. ‘He heard us talking.
I tell you, he knows! Find him.’ Impatient, he began yelling, ‘GO ON, GET AFTER HIM. HE’LL BE HEADED FOR MILL HILL!’

The officers hurried out to the car, the old man following. Glancing down the street he saw Casey, running as if the devil were on his heels. ‘Casey, come back, lad!’ Bob called, but Casey had to find his dad, and he was in no mood for listening. A few more steps and he was away
round the corner, headed for the backstreets, and Mill Hill beyond.

‘I’m coming with you.’ Following the officers, Bob was determined. ‘The boy’s distraught. Who knows what he overheard?’

‘No!’ The officer was adamant. ‘Leave it to us. You need to stay here in case he comes back.’

‘If I stay here, do you promise you’ll find him, and fetch him back to me?’ Already emotionally and physically
exhausted, and now desperately afraid for his grandson, he knew the officer was right. What if Casey came back and there was no one here? Seeing the state he was in, that would be unforgivable.

‘All right, I’ll stay and wait to see if he comes back. But you get off to Mill Hill as quick as you can. Search him out. Look everywhere. The thing is, I don’t know how much he heard.’ He waved them away.
‘Don’t come back without him!’

His shoulders hunched with the weight of sorrow, Bob shuffled inside the house. Tom loomed large in his mind. How he wished to God his son had confided in him. Even then, he could not have changed the harsh fact that Tom had a sorry future ahead of him.

Deliberately leaving the front door slightly ajar, Bob returned to the parlour, where he fell into his chair
and picked up the letter. He read it for the umpteenth time, a few words leaping out of the page at him: ‘… My future is bleak … The disability is bound to render me entirely dependent on loved ones …’

‘Aw, lad!’ Shaking his head in despair, he laid the letter down. Leaning back into the chair he reflected on the morning’s shocking events. Yesterday he was thrilled to have his son and grandson
here with him, and now his whole world had fallen apart.

He looked towards the mantelpiece at the snapshot of his wife in her younger days: a handsome, dark-haired woman with sparkling eyes and winning smile. ‘God help us, Anne, lass,’ he whispered. ‘Look what’s happened to us now.’ He rubbed his head with the palms of his hands, while still confiding in his beloved late wife. ‘Did he think we
wouldn’t take care of him, eh? Does he not know that I would’ve given my own life to save his?’

He tried so hard to put himself in Tom’s shoes, and in a strange way, he understood. Just enough, maybe, to forgive.

Overwhelmed and feeling helpless, he sat there, quiet and reflective. Inevitably the tears came again, and this time they would not stop. ‘Look after our boy, Lord, wherever he is,’
he prayed. ‘And please, bring that little lad home, safe and well. Me and Casey need each other now. More than ever.’

For a long time he remained in the chair, trying to come to terms with the news that Tom had most probably taken his own life.

Aw, lad, why did you suffer it all on yer own? he thought. Why couldn’t you share yer troubles with yer old father, eh? Surely to God, between the two
of us, we might a’ found some other way.