Three Letters (38 page)

Granddad gave her a peck on the cheek before
she stooped to give Casey a cuddle. She couldn’t help but note the boy’s impatience to be away.

‘We’re off to collect the guitar,’ Granddad reminded her, ‘but there’s time enough for us to help you home with them heavy bags.’

Dolly would have none of it, especially with Casey dancing on the spot with excitement. ‘Thank you for the offer,’ she feigned indignation, ‘but I’m not so feeble I can’t
carry a couple of shopping bags on my own.’ She ushered Casey onto the bus. ‘Be off, the pair of you, and be careful, eh?’ Playfully running her hand through the old fella’s sleeked-back hair, she helped him onto the bus.

As she waved them off, she laughingly called out, ‘Oh, and I prefer my men with a bit o’ stubble, so don’t scrape it off again, Bob, it doesn’t suit yer. And while yer at it,
tek that paper off your cheek. Yer look like you’ve been in a road accident.’

‘See! I knew she wouldn’t like it.’ Casey couldn’t help but smile.

Slightly irritated, the old fella shoved the boy into his seat and plopped down beside him. ‘OK, OK, so I were wrong and you were right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But for the future, you need to remember a little knowledge is a bad thing.’

‘That’s not
what my teacher says. She says knowledge opens many doors.’

‘Is that so? And which doors are we talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, you’d best ask ’er, and when you know, you’d best tell me.’

While Casey was thinking, the conductor arrived. ‘Town centre is it?’ He popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

‘That’s it, yes … oh, and mek ’em returns, will yer?’

‘Right.’ He threw the
chewing gum round his teeth. ‘So, it’s one senior, and one child for the town centre?’

‘Correct. So, how much is that, then?’

‘One and fourpence, please.’ He waited while the old fella found the right change.

Having heard the exchange between the old man and the woman who got off, he asked, ‘Cut yourself shaving, did you?’

‘Might ’ave.’ Bob had had enough of discussions concerning his stubble.

The mangled chewing gum did acrobatics on the conductor’s tongue. ‘So, did you, or didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did, as it ’appens.’

Casey joined the conversation. ‘It were my fault. I kept bothering him. That’s why he cut himself.’

‘Your fault, eh?’ Smiling, the conductor glanced at the old fella. ‘That’s kids for you,’ he groaned. ‘Little sods, they are! I’ve got three, and I should know.’

Without
another word, he quickly wound the tickets from the machine round his neck, dropped the fare into his leather satchel, and with his tongue blowing bubbles through the chewing gum, he sauntered off, humming a merry tune.

Behind him, relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped, Bob peeled the paper from his cheek. ‘Damned rude, if yer ask me … chewing that gum with his mouth open in front o’
folk!’ He’d been unnerved by the sight of that chewing gum, ‘Jigging about like cement in a mixer, it were!’

‘What did you say, Granddad?’ Casey was preoccupied, thinking about his guitar.

‘Nowt, lad.’ He shook his head. ‘I said nowt.’

Casey knew his granddad had been surprised at Dolly’s response to his flattened hair, so he left him well alone, and thought about where they were headed.

His excitement grew, and he could hardly wait.

They arrived at the boulevard some ten minutes later, with the conductor helping the old fella off, and the old fella helping the boy off. ‘I thank you for your help,’ Bob advised the conductor, ‘… and I know my old legs aren’t what they used to be. But I do not tek kindly to being helped off the bus, an’ I’d like yer to remember
that.’

‘Oh, I will, and I’m very sorry I must say.’ The conductor was familiar with Granddad Bob, and he’d forgotten how proud and independent he was. ‘Just trying to help, that’s all.’

The old fella afforded him a tight little smile, but chose not to answer. Instead Bob took Casey across the road, past the church, and on to King Street. ‘It’s nobbut a skip an’ a stride to the shop from ’ere,
lad.’

Taking hold of the boy’s hand, he led the way at a smart pace until, coming onto Whalley Banks, he got a bit breathless. ‘We’d best slow down now,’ he told Casey. ‘I need a minute to gather mesel’.’

Breathless and leg-weary, he made a pretence of stopping to look into a shop window, but when Casey asked if he was all right, he stood up straight and marched on. ‘Let me do all the talking
when we get there,’ he warned. ‘Y’see, I’m not too familiar with this partic’lar fella. It were our old friend Frank as told us about him, so you just watch and listen, while I do the business. All right?’

‘Yes, Granddad.’

‘Good … oh, hey-up, we’re almost there!’ After passing the tripe shop, they were at their destination, their attention drawn to the fascinating bric-a-brac displayed in the
windows.

The shelves in both bay windows were a feast for the eyes. Dressed in all manner of beautiful and curious things, they made a fine show. There were ornaments, brass, china and wooden artefacts, bronze and silver medals from the wars, and any amount of heavy, handsome jewellery from a bygone age.

‘By!’ Granddad Bob took a moment to peruse the display. ‘If a fella were looking to buy
his lady-friend a present, ’e wouldn’t know where to start.’

Like Granddad Bob, Casey was overawed, just as he had been the one and only other time they’d been here when they took the guitar in.

‘Are you going to buy Dolly a present?’ He saw Granddad Bob eyeing up what looked like a neckerchief.

‘Not at these prices I’m not. Unless he’s got summat hidden away that fits my pocket.’

‘Why don’t
we ask him then?’

‘We’ll do no such thing. Once you show an interest, there’s no stopping ’em. Like them crafty crabs, they’ll catch hold of yer, an’ won’t let go no how.’

‘So, you’re not getting Dolly a present then?’

‘I’m not saying that exactly, but we didn’t come ’ere to buy presents, as well yer know. Then again, I’m not altogether ruling it out. I’m just saying, if I’m of a mind, and
if I can afford it after we’ve paid the bill, I might think about it. But you remember what I said, lad.’

He tapped the side of his nose as a reminder. ‘You leave all the talking to me, lad.’

Jake Morrison watched them at the window, enjoying their friendly bickering, though, annoyingly, he could not make out what the old man and the boy were bickering about.

Standing behind
the counter and watching the goings-on outside his shop was a favourite pastime. Often he would stand there for ages, just watching and listening. Some folks were convinced that he lived, ate and slept behind that counter. Unshaven, unkempt and sloppily attired in a once-fine suit of fading blue check, he presented an image that made this easy to believe.

‘Good morning to you.’ Leaping from behind
his beloved counter, he swung open the door. He swirled his arm in a welcoming gesture. ‘Please … come inside.’ His thick, wayward hair had long since turned grey, and fell round his shoulders like a mantle. But it was the eyes that drew the attention: darkest green and ocean-deep, they took the attention away from his sloppy suit, wild hair and chin bristles.

When he spoke it was with a somewhat
refined voice, the legacy of a wealthy childhood. As a boy he was educated in the most expensive schools, where he was taught fine music and good manners; though his privileged experience did not prepare him for the bitter fight that emerged in his early manhood, after the sad loss of his beloved father.

The unhappy event involved his father’s will and Jake’s wayward brother, the bane of his
father’s life, but the apple of his mother’s eye.

Deeply shaken by the deep and bitter rift that grew between himself, his sibling and his mother, Jake succumbed to a spiral of wine, women and gambling until, in his late thirties, a near-fatal accident made him realise that life was too short to waste in such a way.

He found a new direction. He threw himself into working every hour he could,
for anyone who would employ him, regardless of how difficult or demanding the work might be, and he saved every penny possible.

Disowned by his family, his determination to build up a business was never dimmed, though it took long, hard years to save money enough to take out a lease on the little shop he now owned; and to buy enough small artefacts to tempt the customers. The initial weeks of
trading were not a huge success, but with the sale of one artefact, he would buy two more, and so his stock grew in number and quality.

He was a businessman at last, and on the side he would teach music for one afternoon a week, thus increasing his income until he had a cosy little home, a shop window bursting with beautiful things, and the pleasure of knowing that he was his own boss.

Over
these past years, he often wondered what his mother and brother would say about him having been successful; not in a huge way, but in a way that meant he was the architect of his own life, at last.

Sadly, though, success came at a price. By the age of forty, he got out of bed in the mornng and there was no one to talk with. He went to bed at night with no one to hold. He might laugh at a thought,
and there was no one to ask what he was laughing at. Or he might be low, and there was no one to lift his spirits, except maybe the odd customer now and then. His bank account was now quite respectable, but there was no one to share it, and so he remained a lonely man, hungry for the company of someone who might love and cherish him.

At night he would retire to his lonely bed and wish with all
his heart that one day, some sweet person might walk into his shop and he would know that this was the day when his life would truly begin. So far, it had not happened, but he held onto the possibility because the idea of him being alone for evermore was too daunting to contemplate.

‘I see you’ve got Casey with you.’ Reaching out with a grubby hand, he ruffled Casey’s hair. ‘It’s good to see
you, young man. Excited, are you?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ As on the previous occasion when he’d met Jake Morrison, Casey was overawed; by Jake’s eccentric appearance and his voice, which was nothing like his granddad’s voice, being sort of posh, and kind of musical.

As for Jake, he had met Granddad Bob and Casey just the once, but he had taken a strong liking to them both. He was aware of the tragic
manner in which this good man had lost his son, and then the aftermath of the boy’s mother taking off, leaving the child in the care of his granddad. He knew all about family break-ups, and he knew it must have been a very difficult time for these two.

Bob greeted Jake warmly. ‘All right, are you?’

‘I am, thank you, yes.’

The old fella moved the conversation on. ‘So is it ready, then?’

‘It
is, and though I say it myself, I’ve done a first-class job on it. I must say, it was a broken mess and no mistake. I’ve tuned it, played it and polished it, and now all it needs is tenderness.’

‘You’ve played it, you say?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t be doing my work properly if I didn’t play it. How else would I know if its character was intact?’

Casey had been bursting to speak, and now he could
hold himself back no longer. ‘Please, Mr Morrison, can I see it … please?’ It seemed such an age since he’d held his daddy’s guitar.

Jake nodded. ‘Of course, young man. After all, I understand it’s your guitar.’ He turned on his heel and went smartly into the back room.

‘By! It’s been a long time coming, eh, lad?’ Granddad Bob knew how concerned the boy was. ‘Don’t worry, I’m told this man knows
everything there is to know about guitars and such, and I’m sure he’s done a grand job.’ His voice hardened. ‘If he hasn’t, then he’ll be in for a rough ride, you mark my words.’

After what seemed an aching few minutes, Jake returned.

‘When you brought the guitar in, it was in an old nylon case, and wrapped in a paper bag, so I took the liberty of searching out an old leather case of mine. It
will offer more protection, and it’s more fitting for such a splendid instrument. I’m sorry to have taken such liberties, but I’d like you to have it, and I hope you’re not offended?’