I have to tell you something now, that will make you sad, and that is the last thing I would ever want to do.
By the time you get this letter, your granddad Bob will have spoken with you and explained the reasons why I did the awful thing I’m about to do. When you know the truth, I hope you will understand, and find it in your heart to forgive me.
My love will always be with you, son, and if it’s possible, I will be ever by your side, watching and guiding you. When you’re worried and sad of heart, you might hear the softest rush of sound about you. It will be me, come to encourage and help you.
Be brave, my son. Follow your heart, and know always that I love you.
Dad xx
After a while, Tom got up from the chair and paced the floor; his painful thoughts on the boy, whom he feared might never understand. What if he thinks me a coward? What if he turns against my memory, he wondered.
He was certain of one thing: if he changed his mind now, his loved ones would suffer the most.
So many times he had agonised over his decision. If he went one way, he would be creating a physical and emotional burden, with no closure in sight.
If he kept to his original plan, there would still be the emotional burden, but he hoped that would ease with time. But there would also be closure, which would be quick, decisive, and of his own choosing.
Returning to the table, he picked up the pen and set out a new sheet of notepaper. This time there were no tears. He felt only a peculiar sense of isolation, almost as though it was someone else sitting there, and not him.
His father loomed large in his mind. He had always seen Bob Denton as a man of stature and consequence – everything he now believed himself not to be.
Casting all doubt aside, he remained true to his plan. There was no going back now.
Dear Dad,
Your instincts were right when you asked if I was hiding something from you.
The truth is, some time ago, after a short bout of illness which you may remember, I was obliged to go for a check-up, and they discovered a disease of the bones, which though it might be treated, can never be cured.
Lately, the condition has got much worse, and I fear that very soon I will be unable to work, and eventually unable to walk without assistance. Consequently, I’ll need the use of a wheelchair.
My future is bleak. It means that my life as an able man who provides for his family will not only come to an end, but the disability will also render me entirely dependent on my loved ones. And though I know you would accept the responsibility gracefully, I can’t let that happen.
You can be sure, Dad, that I have spent many hours thinking of a way to deal with this cruel situation.
I don’t want to suffer the ordeal of just biding my time before the inevitable happens. More often of late, I’ve felt the disease creeping up on me, and it haunts my every waking thought. Not just because my own life will be changed for ever, but because it will affect the lives of those who love me.
I can’t accept the idea of the pain it will cause you and Casey to watch me deteriorate.
Constantly thinking about it proves how much it’s already beginning to shape my life. Sometimes at work, I’m so troubled that my thoughts begin to drift away, and I’m not aware of what’s going on around me. Things will never be the same again. I’m frightened, Dad.
You are a proud and strong man, and you have always been a great inspiration to me. Sadly this time, there’s nothing you can do to help except to take care of my boy, as I know you will. And if you can find it in your heart to keep an eye on Ruth, even if only from a distance, I would rest easy.
Ruth is a troubled woman, Dad. She’s impulsive, driven by anger and hatred, but I would not want her to come to a bad end. She is after all, Casey’s mother.
Please forgive me, Dad. Teach my son, the way you taught me, and tell him I’m so sorry. And that I love you both, always and for ever.
Your grateful and loving son,
Tom xx
There was a third, and final letter.
This was for his wife, Ruth. It was a letter of reconciliation.
In many ways, this was the most difficult one to write because she had hurt him in the cruellest way possible by claiming he was not the father of this wonderful boy he had raised.
Even now, he found it hard to forgive her. He desperately wanted to write the letter, and yet at the same time, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
He was still angry, and also concerned that, whatever he might say, it would be of no consequence to her. She was his wife, and he still felt a stirring of love for her. Yet for some time now she had been almost a stranger to him.
He pined for that long ago love, and for what might have been.
After a moment’s thought, he decided he must try to make the letter brief and to the point. That was his intention, but emotions were a powerful force.
Dear Ruth,
Please, don’t disregard this letter. These words will be the last I ever say to you, and I have many things to tell you. First, how much I regret not being the husband you wanted. I regret many things: working too long and hard, and not keeping time aside for the two of us. I’m sorry for not being the man you could confide in.
I have been lacking in trust, because I have never told you the truth. I have long been aware of your many affairs, but each time I tried to talk with you, the anger and distrust got in the way. I should have fought harder for your love, instead of giving up on you.
None of that matters now, because our life together is over.
There are important things I need to ask of you, Ruth, for all our sakes.
By the time you get this letter, you will know the circumstances. I am truly sorry it had to come to this, because even after all that’s happened between us, I want you to know how I truly feel about you, Ruth. How I have always felt about you.
The plain and simple truth is, I still love you. And though he’ll be feeling bruised and frightened at the moment, Casey also loves you.
Because of my actions, he’ll need you more than ever. You and his granddad are now the only people he has in the whole wide world.
I’ve convinced myself that the awful thing you said about a ‘stranger in the alley’ was just a wicked way of hurting me. Casey has always been my son, and always will be. And because of that, I ask – no, I’m begging you, Ruth – please don’t ever give the boy a reason to doubt who he is. When it all comes down to it, you need him, far more than you yet realise. Like you, he has a strong and determined mind. I believe he’s destined for wonderful things; if not through music, then something else. He has a passion for life. He’s far-sighted, and caring. And he’s your flesh and blood. Please, Ruth, look out for each other.
Show him that you really do love him, because I know you do. How can you not love him? He’s your son, after all.
I wish with all my heart that I could be there to make amends, and bring the family back together. But Fate has decreed that I should choose between the devil and the deep blue sea.
In the end I am following my instincts and choosing the only way that I believe and hope will lessen the pain for my loved ones.
In spite of all the rage inside you, Ruth, I know there is also goodness, if only you will stop fighting it.
I always wanted to see you content, and sadly all I saw was torment. Make peace with yourself, Ruth. For your own sake, and for Casey’s sake too. Help each other, because even if you don’t realise it, you need him, and he needs you. More now than ever. God bless, and please, my darling, think about what I’m asking of you. I want this for you and Casey. I hope and pray that you will do the right thing.
And, Ruth, if only we had trusted each other, it could have been so very different. But it isn’t too late for you and Casey.
Remember the good times, and remember I loved you,
Tom xx
Tom carefully folded each letter and placed it in an envelope. He then wrote each recipient’s name, tog
ether with the same instruction, ‘This letter to be opened only by the person named below.’
Agitated, he paced the floor, wondering where to put them. He had to place them so Casey would not find them, but where they could be easily found by his father. It was Tom’s intention that his son would be told the awful truth by his beloved grandfather, after he himself had learned of it. With that in mind, he realised there was only one place he could safely leave the letters.
Just now, though, for some inexplicable reason, he had a sudden urge to sit in his father’s armchair. Nervously, he went across the room, and for a long moment he stood looking down on that much-loved and well-worn chair.
Now, as he sank into its cavernous depth, it was almost as though the chair wrapped itself around him and held him there. With a sense of joy, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be one with it. This old chair. His father’s chair. Something that was always there, like the walls of the house or the ground beneath his feet, calm and welcoming, even while chaos reigned all about.
A great sadness came over him, and then he was overwhelmed with all manner of emotions: joy and reassurance, because he felt closer to that wonderful man; pride, because that man was his own father, and grandfather to Casey.
There was a sense of grief too because of the awful thing he was about to do, and the pain he would surely leave in his wake.
Sitting there in that big, squashy chair, he was aware of the normal, familiar sounds in this homely little house: the insistent ticking of the clock; the soft rush of air forced through a gap between the top of the door and the framework – a fault his father had long meant to put right, but never did.
When Tom offered to do it, Bob would have none of it. ‘That’s my job, lad!’ That was his pride talking. So Tom never offered again, and the draught got worse. But in the end, in the greater scheme of things, what did it matter?
Just now, his father’s snoring gentled into his thoughts. Outside, the night air was disturbed by many high-pitched whines as the neighbourhood cats hunted for mates. Comforting, familiar sounds that he would never hear again.
In this house where he grew up, everything was exactly the same. Now, though, for him, everything was changed.
Changed for ever more.
Taking the three letters, he went up the narrow staircase.
On the landing he trod carefully, so as to avoid the creaking floorboards. Going first to his son, he entered the room silently.
Kneeling down beside the sleeping child, he tenderly kissed the boy’s forehead. ‘I could tell you a million times that I love you. And still, you would never know how much.’
He made his way along the landing to his father’s room, where he silently inched open the door. He could see his father’s bulky figure, lying flat on his back, mouth wide open, sending out a series of tuneful snores. It made Tom smile.
Going quietly to the bedside, Tom watched his father for a while, then, with his father’s letter uppermost, he put all three letters down on the bedside cabinet. He made sure they were well positioned, so that on waking his father would see his own letter first.
Tom’s whispered goodbye was tearful. ‘Look after our boy, will you, Dad?’ he murmured. ‘And please forgive me, if you can.’
He then made his way downstairs, and along the passage to the front door, where he collected his coat from the peg.
Shrugging it on, he took a moment to fasten the buttons, then gave one last, lingering glance up to where his loved ones were sleeping. ‘Take care of them, Lord’. When the tears threatened, he choked them back.
Taking a deep, sobering breath, he went softly from the house, making sure the door was secured behind him.
Shivering in the night air, Tom drew the lapels of his coat together and hurried down Addison Street. His mind was alive with all manner of memories from his childhood: of the way he used to laugh and shout as he raced with friends down this steep path; of the visiting funfair at Easter, with all the noise and merriment.
And how could he not remember the Blackpool trips with his parents, eating ice cream on the beach, and the first donkey ride he ever had? Once, when the donkey ran off with him, his dad caught up and saved him from a fall.
He recalled his and Ruth’s wedding day, when his father wore a proper shirt and tie for the first and last time ever. He recalled the wonder they had all felt when Casey was born, and the proud moments when each of them first held little Casey in their arms.
Like moving pictures, all these precious, priceless moments rippled through his heart and filled his mind, making him all the more determined to save his loved ones from what he believed would be an agony worse than even he could imagine.
Striding away from Addison Street, he cut through the cobbled backstreets, making for Whalley Banks and King Street. Determined, yet somewhat nervous, he never once looked back.
He didn’t need to look on what he had once had, because he was taking it all with him in his mind.
In no time at all, he was leaving all the familiar haunts behind: Leyland Street, where the boys played footie on the cobbles; the Ragged School, for ragged children; Craig Street, where he and friends became miniature cowboys and villains. The little bike shop, where you could pay a few coins to hire a rusty old bicycle for the weekend. And of course, the cinema, where all the naughty kids, including Tom, would sneak in for a free show.
Going swiftly on, he passed the familiar run of shops, including Mrs Martin’s flower and bric-a-brac shop, then across the cobbled ginnel and the old tripe shop, and on towards Mill Hill.
He dared not let himself think about what had gone before. Nor did he fret about things that might have been in the future. Instead, he cleared his mind of everything that might deter him from his intention.
With every strong, purposeful stride, he drew nearer to his destination.
Soon, he was passing the Mill Hill pub and Bower Street. Only a few more steps, and he was on the railway bridge.
Dolly Pritchard lived in the corner house on Parkinson Street, a long, busy street of terraced houses situated alongside the railway lines.
Having married at the age of twenty, Dolly and her new husband moved into the terraced house and lived there together for thirty-five years. Having lost her husband five years ago, to a swift and unforgiving illness, she remained in the house. It was her home, and having now turned sixty, with greying hair and a few extra pounds round the middle, she thought herself past the upheaval of setting up somewhere else.
Instead she got herself a loyal little dog from the dog pound, on the very day he was due to be put down as an unwanted stray. Dolly loved Bartie at first sight. He was a hairy, misshapen little creature, with an insatiable thirst for adventure.
Most nights she had to cajole him back inside with a juicy titbit. Only this time, he refused to come in, and when next door’s cat popped its head round the corner, the dog took after it, and the pair of them were soon scampering out of sight.
Dolly called Bartie several times, and promised him the world, but that wily little dog was not about to come home; at least not until he’d taught that cat a lesson it would never forget.
‘You little minx!’ Dolly was well known for her sergeant-major voice. ‘You come back here this minute, or I’ll give you what for, and no mistake!’
The dog, however, was long gone.
Muttering angrily, Dolly put on her hat and coat, and collected the dog lead from the drawer in the sideboard. Ready for war, she made her way down the passage, and out onto the step, key in hand. She turned to look up and down the street in case the dog had started his way home.
It was then that she noticed the figure on the railway bridge.
In the hazy light from the streetlamp she recognised it to be a young man. What was he doing, hanging about there at that time of night?
Curious, she remained in the doorway, watching, one eye directed up the street for her dog, and the other on the young man. She could see how his head was bent, as th
ough he was looking down at the railway lines below. ‘What can he see down there, I wonder?’
A horrible thought crossed her mind: Oh, my God! That little scamp has got on the lines!
Dropping the door key into her pocket, she ran to where Tom was standing.
‘Is there a little dog down there?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Can you see him? The little devil ran off to chase a cat, and I can’t find him. Is he down there?’ She edged her way forward. ‘Bartie, come on, boy!’
Tom was startled by the sudden appearance of this kindly-looking lady. He shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen any dog,’ he told her quietly. ‘I was just looking … well … for nothing in particular, I suppose. I didn’t see any dog, though. I should think he got tired of chasing the cat and went home. He’s probably waiting for you at the door.’ Regrettably, this woman had managed to disturb his mood.
Dolly’s curiosity was heightened. ‘So, if you didn’t see a dog down there, what exactly were you looking at?’
Tom gave a little shrug.
Dolly was persistent. ‘Have you got someone to meet at the station?’ she asked casually, ‘because if you have, you’d best get along there now. If I remember right, the last train is due in about five minutes or so.’
‘I’m all right for a while yet,’ Tom replied. ‘Don’t worry about me, just go and find your little dog.’
Ignoring his suggestion, Dolly took a closer look at this young man. She noticed how jittery he seemed, and the intent way he kept glancing down towards the rail tracks. Also, the way his hands were wrapped tight over the wall, almost as though he was bracing himself for something. Something she dared not even think about. What was he doing there, at that time of night? And why was he staring down at the rails, seemingly oblivious of her presence?’
‘Are you all right, son?’ she asked him.
Hearing her use of the word ‘son’, Tom was deeply shaken. ‘I really think you should go and find your dog, before it gets itself in trouble,’ he told her.
‘But are you sure you’re all right?’
Tom nodded, and so she bade him good night. ‘You’ve only got a few minutes to get to the station and meet your friend,’ she warned on parting. ‘You don’t want to keep them waiting.’
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