Three Letters (33 page)

Drawn to the pub, he crossed the road. He wondered if he
should go inside and drown his worries, but his mood was not in keeping with the loud, merry laughter he could hear. He decided just to keep walking until he felt so tired, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep.

After walking on for a few minutes more, he paused to admire a church in the square he was passing through. The strong, meticulously sculpted lines gave it such proud character.
Appreciating things fine and beautiful, he could not help but wonder about the mind and hand that had designed such a magnificent structure.

A cutting sense of disappointment made him question his own feeble endeavours. What had he actually done with his life? What great feat had he achieved that would leave his mark on the world? Where was he headed? What were his true ambitions? Also, when
and if he ever achieved those ambitions, would they even be worthy of his time and effort?

Compared to the person who had created strength and beauty in that wonderful church, he thought himself unworthy, and undeserving.

He walked on into a much busier area of town, with people milling about. There were sweethearts strolling arm in arm, laughing together; and revellers, chattering and singing
as they spilled out of the pubs and clubs, onto the streets.

A number of people headed for the boulevard where they climbed aboard the buses, while others hurried towards the grand Victorian railway station beyond.

Within minutes, the spill of people had diminished, the chatter and the singing died down. Soon the streets appeared almost deserted except for a few merry young folk, unsteady on
their feet and unsure which direction they should go.

Steve went in search of a taxi. Disappointed to see a long queue at the taxi rank, he thought his best chance of acquiring a lift to his hotel was to carry on walking, and board a taxi further down the street.

Wondering down a narrow side street, away from the brightly lit boulevard, his thoughts turned to the viewings tomorrow, and the possibility
that at long last he might be on the verge of achieving his cherished ambition.

Sadly, even if his long-held dream was finally realised, his wife would show little interest. He had no children either, and who knew, they might have followed him into the music industry. Not having children was a real thorn in his side, and even if they hadn’t followed the music profession, it would not have mattered.
Only now, did he realise how truly lonely he was.

Some distance away from where Steve had first sought a taxi, Ruth stopped to rest. She found herself on a street that was softly lit, and quiet. Hopefully she might find a deep doorway, where she could maybe catch a wink or two, before moving on.

She soon located a suitable place. It was a large Victorian house, with a wooden
sign fixed to the wall.

Marilyn’s Place

BED AND BREAKFAST

ALSO LONG-TERM BOARDERS

(Professional only)

Suitable terms – Enquire inside

Ruth was relieved to see that the porch was unlit though there was a soft light above the sign, and another light shining from a bedroom window on the upper level.

Leaning forward, she could see that the big wood-panelled front door was closed. The street
was empty, though from somewhere nearby there was music and voices raised in song. But that was usual round these backstreets; especially on a late evening. She was not concerned. It was just some pub turning out reluctant boozers who had overstayed their welcome. More importantly and for her own safety, there was no pub on this particular street.

Reminding herself that it was the kind of quiet
night that carried music and voices from a way off, she believed she was safe enough here, for the time being.

Bone-tired and longing to lay down her head, she promised herself that here, in that dark, deep porch, she would be comfortable, at least till daybreak. So she crept into the dark recess of the porch and settled herself down.

When the cold, hard flagstones beneath her struck bitterly
cold, she drew her arms inward, out of the long sleeves of her jumper. That done, she clumsily wrapped the loosely hanging sleeves tight about her neck and shoulders, while pulling down and tucking in the body of the jumper itself, wherever possible. Folding her legs beneath her, she then curled into a ball.

Finding the brick walls cold and hard against her back, she shifted herself further into
the corner, with her body resting between the wall and the door, which made for a more comfortable position.

Wary of any danger, she took a moment to listen for approaching strangers. But there was only silence and darkness, both of which eased her mind.

Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to sleep, but, as on every night since she’d left Henry Street, her sleep was neither deep, nor restful.

Instead, it was a shallow, uneasy sleep, in which her dreams constantly reminded of the destructive events that had brought her here, to this.

Steve was hopelessly lost. Having strayed from the main streets, he was now anxious, and keeping a sharp lookout for a telephone box from which to call for a taxi.

Eventually he spotted a red telephone box beneath a streetlamp on a
corner.

Inside, he fumbled through his jacket pockets for loose change.

The first call was to ask the operator for the number of a taxi firm, which he scribbled down on the back of his hand.

The second call was to Connie at their home in Finchley. He let it ring for a long time until it was irritatingly clear that there was no one there to answer it.

‘So, where the devil is she?’ Muttering
impatiently, he dropped the receiver into its cradle. He was used to her gadding about with her chums.

Digging into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the hotel card and carefully dialled the number. When the receptionist answered, he asked to be put through to Mrs Alice Bates.

‘Who shall I say is calling, sir?’

‘Steve Bates. She’s expecting my call.’ Some hour or two ago, he reminded himself wryly.

In no time at all, his sister-in-law was on the line. ‘Steve, where are you? You should have been back ages ago. Susie refuses to go to bed until she knows you’re back safe and well.’

‘Sorry, Alice, I got sidetracked. I was talking to this bloke and we ended up in a pub, and then before I knew it, I was up on stage, playing the guitar …’

She laughed at that. ‘I might have known it. Anyway, I’m
glad you called. I was getting worried.’

‘Alice, have you heard from Connie? When I tried a few minutes ago, there was no reply. I just wondered if she’d been in touch with you?’

‘Nope.’ Alice was all too aware of Steve’s wife’s disinterest in his plans. It saddened her to see that they were increasingly living separate lives. ‘After I got back here this afternoon, I actually asked at the desk
if she’d left a message for either of us, but they said there was nothing. I shouldn’t worry, though, Steve. You know what she’s like … gone off to some club with her mates, I dare say.’ She gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘A bit like you, going into some pub with a stranger and showing off on stage.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t know about “showing off”. I was bamboozled into it. Mind you, I must confess
I really enjoyed it.’

‘Well, there you go then. If you ask me, you and Connie are as bad as each other.’

‘Hmm! Well, at least she can’t say I didn’t try to get in touch.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about her. You know what they say: “while the cat’s away, the mice will play.”’ The moment she spoke the words, she regretted them.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything … only that
she’s probably been out shopping all day, spending a fortune on glad rags and make-up. Anyway, Susie’s here and she wants to talk to you.’

There was a short span of silence before Susie’s excited voice came on the phone. ‘Uncle Steve? I’ve been waiting for you to come back.’

Steve smiled at the sound of her voice. ‘You’re a little minx! You should be fast asleep in your bed by now.’

‘I’m not
going to sleep until you come back!’

‘I see. All right, I’m on my way.’

‘Hurry up then.’

‘Oh, I will, don’t you worry. See you soon then.’

‘See you soon, Uncle Steve. Bye.’

‘Bye, sweetheart.’

Replacing the receiver, he stood for a moment reflecting on his conversation with that sweet little girl. “
What I wouldn’t give to have a child of my own.
” Thrusting the idea from his mind, he concentrated
on ringing the number for a taxi.

‘… And where are you exactly, sir?’

‘Hang on a minute.’ Peering outside, along the wall, Steve caught sight of the street name. ‘Montague Street. How quickly can you get here?’

He waited for the man to check. ‘Twenty minutes at the outside.’

‘Good … thank you. I need to get to the King’s Hotel.’

‘Right! We’ll collect you from Montague Street in fifteen minutes
or so.’

Replacing the receiver, Steve went out onto the street, where he began walking up and down, eagerly watching for the sight of the taxi.

Ruth’s sleep was haunted by what Tom had done, to himself and to the boy he idolised.

Her subconscious mind was alive with images of his last few minutes. In her fractured dreams, she could see him on the bridge; he was looking down,
his face racked with sadness. Now he was silently falling, arms out and eyes closed as he spun down towards the tracks.

And now, she was at the churchyard, watching from the back while the priest talked of ‘this fine young man … who was in such turmoil that he took his own life.’

She had wondered since what the priest knew that she was unaware of. Did he know that not long before Tom’s fatal
jump, she had taunted him with the confession that the boy he believed to be his own flesh and blood was not his at all?

Did the priest know of the resentment she harboured towards Tom, and the boy, her own son?

And now, because of her damning confession, Casey and the good man he believed to be his daddy had each paid an impossible price.

The priest could not know that. Neither did he feel
her pain, or the unfulfilled longing that never left her: a longing for love and quietness of heart. She had never prayed. She would not know how. But she knew wickedness, and she knew how to hurt.

In her wild youth she had willingly given herself, heart and soul, to a young man, and he let her down so badly that she had never got over it. On the day he went away, leaving her with child, she
promised herself that never again would she love or trust anyone.

Tom had been a good man who loved her in a way she had never been loved before, with tenderness and compassion, asking nothing in return, except that she might love him back. How could he have known that she was incapable of loving anyone? Instead she had used him, taking advantage of his devotion to her.

The truth was, in all
the years they were married, she had never felt anything for him except a sense of disgust that he should be so gullible. He’d accepted her lies without question; lies about her feelings for him; lies about the child she claimed was his, and even lies about the timing of its conception. When she’d raised her little finger, Tom had come running. He’d married her straight away. He’d been in love with
her for years and was the happiest, proudest man alive, while she was quietly content that her secret was safe.