The Loner

Home > Fiction > The Loner > Page 16
The Loner Page 16

by Josephine Cox


  RETURNING FROM HIS self-imposed exile, Don thrilled at the sight of his old hometown, with its huge Victorian station and sprawling boulevard and the ordinary folks going about their daily grind. The man was there as always, selling hot potatoes from his hand-cart, and strolling amongst the crowd, the flower-seller sold the last of her colourful blooms. ‘I’m home!’ he muttered with a surge of joy. ‘Home where I belong.’

  As the tram prepared to move out, the conductor caught sight of the man running towards them. ‘Another minute and you’d have missed us altogether!’ Pressing his finger to the bell button, he stopped the tram from leaving. ‘Come on, matey – hurry up!’ he shouted. ‘We’re already late.’‘Aw, thanks.’ Don scrambled aboard. ‘I thought I’d missed it for sure.’ Wending his way down to the far end, he seated himself by the window. It was good to be back in Blackburn, he thought. He had been away too long, and with every passing day he missed his family more than he could ever have imagined. But when he went away, he had left in anger, angry at his father-in-law for having been weak just like himself in not taking Rita to task earlier … though he was deeply fond of that dear old man and ashamed that he had let him down.

  He had been angry with his son, Davie, for wanting to stay with his mother, when time and again Rita had pushed them all to the limit, until in the end he could stand no more. But then Davie was fiercely loyal and independent, with a love for family that was deeply protective. Yet on that awful night, the boy’s love and loyalty was torn all ways. That night, they all had choices to make; Rita to mend her ways or continue going downhill and taking them all with her; the old man had to decide whether he was prepared to go on accepting things the way they were, and Davie, just a boy with his world collapsing about him, was forced into choosing to stay with his father or defend his mother. Such a choice must have been the hardest thing for any child. So, Davie chose his mammy, and who could blame him for that? Certainly not himself, for he knew only too well how wonderful Rita could be, and how easy it was to love her. He only hoped his son had not lived to regret his choice, the way his daddy had done so many times.

  These past years, he had half hoped that somehow his son would find him. When it did not happen, he was disappointed but not altogether surprised. Now, all he wanted was to reunite his family again, and pray they could build a better future together.

  There were many regrets for the hurt he had caused by walking out. He hoped they would forgive him, especially Rita. She had been the love of his life and he could never see himself loving any other woman in the same way.

  His deepest anger had been reserved for his wife. For it was she in the end who had split the family apart; with her wanton ways and her lack of remorse or shame, she had a great deal to answer for. His anger for this woman he had loved forever and still loved, had crippled him for a long, long time. And when at last it finally subsided, there grew in him a great sense of loss, more painful than anything that had gone before.

  He missed old Joseph, and he missed his son, Davie, so very much. And for all her sins, he ached for Rita, his sweetheart, that bright, happy girl who had captured his heart with her first smile. Through all the anger and pain, and the time that had gone between, he loved her still. He had never stopped loving her.

  And now he was back home, humbled and lonely, with a desperate need to draw his family back together and turn over a new leaf and God willing to help Rita do the same.

  ‘All aboard that’s coming aboard!’ The conductor pressed the bell button for leaving; at the same time taking stock of his new passenger, who was tall and well-built, with a long, confident stride.

  ‘You were lucky to catch the tram,’ he told him now. ‘Another minute and we’d have been gone, and you’d have had to wait a long time for the next one.’

  Don thanked him again. ‘I’ve been away,’ he explained. ‘I came in on the train. It was late, that’s what held me up. But I’m here now, on my way home, and glad of it.’

  ‘So, you’ve been away in Ireland, have you?’

  ‘How did you know I was from Ireland?’ Don asked.

  ‘Ah, well, I’ve got a good ear for accents. But from what I can tell, you’ve lived longer in England than you have in your homeland, am I right?’

  With a chuckle, Don quipped, ‘The Irish girls wouldn’t take me on, so I found mea Lancashire lass.’

  ‘And did you ever regret it?’ the conductor asked idly.

  It seemed an age before Don answered, and when he did, it was in such a husky voice, the other man had to lean down to hear him. ‘No, I don’t think I ever did regret it,’ he murmured. ‘Though there were certain things I might like to have changed along the way.’

  The conductor laughed. ‘Aren’t there always?’ he answered. ‘We love ’em and wed ’em, but there’s none of ’em perfect, and never will be. But for all that, we’d rather not be without ’em.’ Turning the handle of the clumsy machine strapped round his shoulder, he concluded the conversation. ‘Where to?’

  ‘I’m headed for Derwent Street, and as far as I can recall, the tram doesn’t go there?’

  The conductor shook his head. ‘That’s right. Sorry, matey. You still have to get off at King Street and walk up to Derwent Street.’

  Don held out his loose change. ‘King Street it is then.’

  Taking the correct number of coins, the tram-conductor dropped them into the leather pouch around his waist, and proceeded to roll off the ticket. ‘My own wife comes from County Cork,’ he went on. ‘Her grandfather came to England looking for work years ago, and the whole family followed.’

  He sighed. ‘My Rosie is a real beauty. When she was young, her hair was red as fire … it’s faded a bit now, more’s the pity,’ he gabbled on. ‘By! She’s got one hell of temper, though. That’s what they say, don’t they? ‘‘Red hair, red temper’’.’

  When Don held out his hand for the ticket, the conductor made no move to give it him. ‘So, what about yourself?’ he asked. ‘Are you home to stay, or are you on a visit?’ He then handed Don the ticket. ‘Sorry. I hope you don’t mind me being nosy?’

  ‘No, I don’t mind at all.’ Though in truth, Don would rather be left alone right now. Friendly though the conductor was, he himself was not in the mood for talking. ‘And to answer your question, I’ve lived away for sometime, but now I’m back to stay.’

  ‘Been away earning the money, have you?’

  ‘You could say that, yes.’ But none of it had gone to his family, he thought guiltily. They had had to manage without his wage for all these years.

  ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘A son.’ Don pictured Davie in his mind. ‘He’ll be eighteen now.’ His heart shuddered. It was some five years since he had seen Davie. Would he look the same? Would he want his father anywhere near? Had he forgiven him for leaving that night? And what about Rita? When they parted, it had been with bitterness, so how would she feel now, when he turned up at the door? Would she still be drinking and leading the life of Riley, or would she have settled down by now? And Davie would be out at work, keeping food on the table. Would he be in the same line of work as himself, Don wondered, recalling the hours they had spent together, making things for the house. He felt so excluded from their lives.

  Realising he was not in the mood for chit-chat, the conductor prepared to move on. ‘Good luck to you then,’ he said, and approached his next passenger, a grey-haired, grey-faced woman. ‘Hello, Mrs Armitage. And how are you today?’

  While the conductor chatted, Don watched as the familiar streets opened out to him, and when the tram turned into King Street, his heart was full, the memories almost too much to bear. The sights lifted his spirits, and he felt like an exile returning to everything he loved. This was his home, his life – and oh, dear God, how he had missed it!

  For the millionth time, all the old questions rampaged through his mind. Why had he run away? Why couldn’t he have stayed and tried harder with Rita? Had she changed now? he wondered again. Had
his leaving brought her to her senses? Or was she still gallivanting, bedding every man she met? Moreover, had she found someone to replace him?

  Torturing himself, he began to believe the worst. So, had he done the right thing in coming back, or should he have left well alone and made a permanent life for himself, away from these parts, and away from Rita? It wasn’t as though he himself hadn’t had the occasional relationship, because he had. But there had been nothing serious, nor had he led the women to believe anything otherwise. They were mere time-fillers, until he found the strength to come home and make amends with Rita, once and for all.

  And now here he was, worried and anxious about the outcome. Either she would turn him away, or, like him, she had been lonely, aching for things to be as they used to be … before it all went wrong.

  As they travelled along King Street, he glanced out of the window. There was the picture-house and the row of shops. And now they were nearing the pretty narrow bridge in front of the greengrocer’s. Suddenly the tram was stopping and he really began to panic. Should he stay on the tram and go back to tramp the hills and valleys of Ireland, where he had hidden away all these years? Or should he brave it out and take the consequences, whatever they were?

  Yes, he should! He had to, or he would always regret it. And what of Davie, and the look on his young face as his daddy went out the door? What had the boy been thinking in that awful moment, and had he hated him ever since?

  For one terrifying moment, Don’s courage almost deserted him. Then he remembered how close he and his son had been, up until that shocking event when anger exploded and he burst out of the house. And then, after he left for Ireland, he had suffered from devastating loneliness, from days that never seemed to end, sleepless nights and the deep-down yearning that wouldn’t go away.

  His family were the most precious things on God’s earth to him, and for these five long years, he had let his pride keep him away.

  But he was here now, and come what may, this was where he would end his days. And if Rita didn’t want him, he would make a new life nearby. He would work hard to win back his son’s trust and love. And never again would he desert him.

  ‘King Street!’ The conductor’s voice rang out as the tram shuddered to a halt. ‘Good day to you,’ he addressed Don with a cheery grin. ‘Mind how you go now.’ He watched him go down the road, occasionally pausing deep in thought. ‘A troubled man, that’s what you are,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever it is you’re bracing yourself for, I’d rather be me than you.’

  He was taken unawares when an elderly woman poked him on the shoulder with her walking-stick. ‘Does this tram stop at Mill Hill?’‘Oh, sorry, darling, I was miles away!’ He helped her aboard. ‘Yes, it does stop at Mill Hill, and goes all the way to Samlesbury’

  When the woman was safely in her seat, he pressed the button to leave; with a last glance at Don’s departing figure, he thanked his lucky stars that he himself led a simple, uncomplicated life. When his work was done, he went home to a hearty meal and sometimes, if his wife was in the mood, a bit of slap and tickle before he went to sleep. He was a contented man who worked hard and provided, and with a good woman to tend his every need, he wanted nothing more.

  Unaware that his long-estranged son-in-law was on his way home, Joseph finished his pot of tea, put on his jacket, filled his pipe with baccy, and resumed his seat on the doorstep, enjoying the mild spring air.

  Come rain or shine, he spent many an hour on his doorstep. In the winter when the fumes from the coal fire got down his chest, he would put on his overcoat and take refuge outside, while in the warmer weather like now, he would sit with his mug of tea and his pipe of baccy, and simply watch the world go by.These days, it was the only real pleasure he had; save for when Judy would come by and they would talk about her young dreams, and he would tell stories about his own youth. These past few years, the girl had been his salvation, and he valued her for the genuine friend she had been to him.

  ‘Good day to you, Joseph!’ That was the lady from the corner shop. ‘Don’t sit there too long,’ she advised with a wag of her chubby finger. ‘They say it might rain later, and you don’t want to be catching a chill.’

  Returning her greeting, Joseph joked as usual, ‘I won’t mind a bit o’ rain, Elsie.’ He gave her a knowing wink. ‘It’ll save you giving mea bath later.’

  ‘Away with you, Joseph,’ she laughed aloud. ‘Saying things like that will get the whole street talking!’ And she trotted up the road feeling twenty years younger.

  ‘Up to your old tricks, are you, Joe?’ Having overheard the mischievous conversation, Lenny Reynolds paused a moment at the old man’s doorstep.

  ‘Aw, she loves a bit o’ flirting,’ Joseph chuckled. ‘It makes her day. Besides, we might be old in the tooth, but we can’t have folks thinking we’re past it, can we, eh?’

  ‘No, that would never do.’ Lenny enjoyed his little chats with Joseph. After everything he’d been through, the man could still be very entertaining. ‘And how are you today, Joseph – apart from chatting up the women?’

  ‘I’m all right, thank you, Lenny. And how are you, lad?’

  ‘Fine and dandy, thank you.’ He threw off his work satchel. ‘OK if I sit beside you for a while?’ He always enjoyed the banter with Joseph, and besides, it was good to catch up with news of the lovely Judy Makepeace.

  ‘Course ye can.’ Joseph shifted along the step. ‘Sit yerself down, young fella-me-lad.’ He had a lot of time for Lenny. He had seen him grow from boy to man these past four years, until now he was a handsome, strapping fellow who, in spite of his disinterested parents, had turned out really well. He already had a thriving greengrocer stall on Blackburn market, and was saving up to buy a shop in the heart of town. Oh yes! Lenny Reynolds was going places.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Joseph clambered up. ‘Come inside and you can tell me how the business is going.’ He smiled into Lenny’s brown eyes. ‘Judy was around earlier. She’s learning to drive, did you know that?’ He wasn’t surprised to see how, at the mention of the girl’s name, Lenny’s face lit up like a beacon.

  As they went down the passageway towards the back parlour, the torrent of questions never stopped. ‘When did she start learning to drive? Who’s teaching her? Did she mention me? Will she be popping round again, d’you think?’

  ‘Hold on, lad!’ Joseph dropped himself into the chair. ‘You can’t give yourself a minute to breathe, what with Judy this and Judy that!’ He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Go and put the kettle on,’ he said. ‘All them questions ’ave fair worn me out!’ As Lenny went to the kitchen, Joseph called out, ‘Oh, an’ I wouldn’t mind a drop o’ the good stuff in me tea. You’ll find it in the bottom cupboard. And don’t be too stingy with it, neither.’

  In a surprisingly short time, Lenny was back with two mugs of tea and the biscuit barrel. ‘I found the brandy,’ he told Joseph. ‘I put a good measure in your tea, and there’s still a bit left for a nightcap.’

  Setting the biscuits and mug of tea down beside Joseph, he sat down in the other armchair and watched as his neighbour took a generous swig of the hot liquid. ‘Aw, that’s just what the doctor ordered.’ Joseph smacked his lips. ‘It might ’ave tasted even better if you’d tipped the lot in, but so long as there’s a drop left to help me sleep, I’ll not grumble. Thank you.’ He raised his cup. ‘You’re a good lad.’

  Though he had come to respect Lenny, Joseph had no liking whatsoever for the boy’s parents. Devious crafty pair they were, he thought. They smiled and chatted to your face, while behind your back they were pure poison. He had never suspected how false they were, until one day he heard them talking in the backyard – about Joseph’s family having left him to his own devices. ‘We should keep him sweet while we can,’ he heard that bitch next door say. ‘After all, he’s got nobody else to leave his few belongings to, and who knows? He might well have a bit of money stashed away somewhere.’

  After that, Joseph had little to do with them. He nod
ded and smiled, and graciously declined their offers of help, and Ron and Patsy Reynolds were satisfied that he knew nothing of their expectations.

  Lenny was a different kettle of fish. It was common knowledge that he didn’t get on with his parents, and that they had little time for him. So Joseph be friended him, and sometimes the two of them would sit in his parlour putting the world to rights, and Lenny would confide in him – about how he had always felt as though he didn’t belong to his parents. Sometimes he sensed that they resented him, and he didn’t know why.

  Joseph would reassure him, and he would go away less troubled, and in return for the bond of friendship that had grown between them, Lenny kept a wary eye on Joseph. When the old man was feeling under the weather, he would run errands for him, and make sure the house was warm and Joseph was eating properly.

  For now though, Lenny sipped his tea and listened while Joseph rambled on, about how he missed his family, and how he wished to God he could turn the clock back, because if he could, then he’d happen be more tolerant and not let things get out of hand the way they had done on that particular night when it all ended in tragedy.

  Lenny wisely made no comment. It was not his place to pass an opinion on Joseph’s family, or the way it had been; though like everyone else down the street, he knew how shamelessly Rita Adams had behaved, and brought the family into disrepute.

  Joseph went on, eyes down and staring at the floor, his hands relentlessly twisting round his mug of tea. ‘I lost it all,’ he said brokenly, ‘my young grandson and my only daughter … and a son-in-law who had never set a foot wrong that I know of. That night though, he couldn’t take any more, d’you see? It all blew up in our faces and there was nothing I could do. One minute I had a family all round me, and the next – I was standing in this very parlour, all alone. And oh, the silence after that terrible row. That’s what struck me the most … the awful silence.’ He gave a deep long sigh. ‘They’re all gone now, but not the silence. That’s always there.’

 

‹ Prev