Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  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.

  From the moment the child was born, she shrank away from him, hardly able to look at him. Whenever Tom cradled the child in his arms, she hated one as much as the other.

  She wanted to hurt them and, as the years went on, there was no end to her wickedness.

  Even now, with Tom lying in the cold ground, and the boy gone from her, she felt no guilt because her own suffering had swallowed all that was good in her.

  And yet, she wished things had been different. But what did she really wish for? Was it peace, and contentment? A kinder heart? To find the love of a mother for her child? No, it was none of these precious things.

  What she truly wished for was deeply embedded in the past. It was the time when life was worth living. She wished for the girl she had been, and who, for the one and only time in her life, had fallen in love with every part of her being. She wished for the young man who, in those fleeting hours, had shown her such great joy. They had laughed and played, and their love was very precious dream.

  But the dream ended when he went away. He crept into her life like a thief in the night. He stole her heart and soul and went away for ever.

  If only she could turn back the clock, to that amazing time before he left her behind, without any explanation.

  She wanted him back. She wanted the laughter back. She wanted to hear him sing love songs to her, and make her laugh as he chased her across Blackpool beach. Many times, she had been drawn back to Blackpool through these memories.

  She thought of him now, strumming his guitar and looking at her while he melted her heart with his tender songs.

  Her heart darkened as she thought of the boy. Like Tom, he had a great love for music. Yet there was a difference because where Tom had been taught it by his father, Casey had picked it up almost naturally, with little instruction or help. As he grew older, his musical talent simply grew as he grew, almost as though it had always been a part of him. And even though she had discouraged it, she was reluctantly drawn by the beauty of his music and the way he held the guitar, close to his heart. It was as though making music was as natural to him as breathing.

  Listening to him was almost unbearable, because whenever she heard the boy sing and play, she was transported back,
to when she first met his father. They met by chance, and spent the day together. The magic of his music drew her to him, but it was the man himself who held her there.

  The short time she spent with him was the best time of her life. A time that would always be precious to her; a time she wished she could go back to. She would gladly surrender half her life, if only she could go back over the years and be with him.

  But the past was gone, and it was too late for her now.

  Tom came into her life and changed everything.

  On the day Tom took his own life, was it her fault? After she told him the boy was not his, was it too much for him to bear? Was that the real truth? Had he answered her questions in the letter she had so callously thrown away? She wondered if she should go back and search for that letter. But it must be long gone by now, and besides, would she really want to read his last words to her?

  No! She would rather not know …

  Deep in a fitful sleep, Ruth was unaware that she was being watched.

  ‘Ooh, look now. ’Ave yer ever seen such a pretty sight?’ Drunk and smiling, the pot-bellied man turned to his equally drunken friend. ‘Looks like we’ve found ourselves a little hussy.’

  ‘Yeah! I reckon there’s more than enough there for the two of us, don’t you?’ Younger, of tighter build and harder features, the other man took stock of the woman in the doorway.

  He licked his lips like a dog slavering after a juicy bone, and his eyes rove over her long, dishevelled skirt and the enticing bare thigh where her constant fidgeting had caused the skirt to shift, revealing a measure of enticing pink flesh.

  Bending down, he reached out and, pinching together two fingers, carefully lifted the skirt higher. When the lacy leg of her knickers was revealed, he could hardly contain his excitement.

  ‘Gentle now … we mustn’t wake her. We don’t want her to scream out and wake everyone from their beds, do we? The pot-bellied man glanced up and down the lonely street. ‘Let’s get her somewhere dark and lonely where we can … take care of her.’ He gave a knowing wink.

  The younger man leaned down to straddle his legs over Ruth’s sleeping body. Softly wrapping her long hair around one hand, he pressed the other hand tight across her mouth; effectively stifling any screams or unexpected movements.

  In her disturbed sleep, Ruth felt a sense of unease.

  Now, when she tried to move her head, it was held fast, and there was something pressing down on her face. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t, and panic set in. Someone was hurting her. They were holding her down, and when she managed to blink open her eyes, she saw two men leaning over her; grinning at her, their evil expressions striking fear in her heart.

  Left in no doubt as to their lecherous intentions, she fought them with every ounce of strength in her body.

  A street away, Steve paced up and down, desperately impatient for the taxi to arrive.

  Thinking he’d heard a muffled cry, he waited and listened, but all was quiet again, and he casually dismissed it as his imagination. ‘I could have walked back to the hotel by now,’ he muttered angrily, ‘if only I knew which way to go.’

  As he anxiously paced up and down, the only living creature he encountered was a ginger tomcat, which quickly scurried away at the sight of him.

  Now, as he got to the top of the street, he thought he heard that noise again … like a muffled squeal, and now the sound of scuffling, and people talking to each other.

  Curious, he stopped to listen. There it was again … an odd kind of squeal. He couldn’t make it out. He knew the sound of cats fighting, and this was different.

  Growing ever curious, he took a few steps forward. As he ventured round the corner, the noise got louder and more urgent. Now he thought it sounded like someone in trouble.

  ‘Bloody hell, she’s a bit of a firecracker, this one!’

  The pot-bellied man had his thick fists locked around Ruth’s legs, while the younger man had one hand grasping the roots of her hair, and his other hand pressed hard and tight across her mouth.

  ‘I don’t mind her being a firecracker,’ he chuckled softly as they staggered drunkenly towards the alley. ‘The harder they fight, the more the fun, eh?’

  ‘Shut up, you bloody fool!’ the other man hissed angrily. ‘Quick! Get her off the street, before somebody sees us.’

  ‘Ouch, you damned bitch!’ As Ruth sank her teeth into his flesh, the younger man winced; though she only increased his excitement.

  On rounding the corner, Steve saw the two men. As he got closer, he realised they were carrying a woman. Violently struggling, she was making the muffled noises he’d heard earlier.

  Realising their intention, he ran at them. ‘Hey! What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

  The force of his attack sent the big man sprawling to the ground. Dazed and drunk, he tried to stagger up, but when Steve floored him again with a hard blow to the chin, he scrambled up and fled through the alley, like the coward he was.

  His partner didn’t even stay to fight. Instead he hot-footed it after the big man, the two of them shouting threats behind them as they scarpered. ‘You’d best watch yer back, mate, ’cause we’ll have yer! One dark night when yer least expecting it, we’ll be there!’

  Ruth was lying on the ground, quietly sobbing, Steve helped her to stand. ‘Are you all right?’ In the gloom of the alley, he could see little of her face, especially with her long matted hair partly covering her features.

  ‘Yes … I’m all right.’ She was distressed, but thankfully not badly hurt. Ashamed, she kept her face averted, hardly daring to look at him. She felt dirty and unkempt, but lucky to be safe. ‘I need to get back,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be all right now.’ She had no idea where she might go ‘back’ to.

  ‘Snatched you off the street, did they?’ Steve kept an image of the men in his mind. ‘Don’t you worry, they’ll get their comeuppance,’ he promised.

  Looking down at the ground, Ruth nodded. ‘Thank you for helping me.’ Deeply shaken and painfully conscious of how this incident must all look to him, she continued to keep her face averted.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Steve wondered why she would not look him in the face. Maybe she was nervous of him, understandable after her shocking ordeal with those two thugs.

  ‘Yes, really. I’m OK now. I can manage. You don’t need to stay with me. I can make my own way home.’ There was a time when she might have been glad to entertain such a hero, but not tonight, because tonight she had seen a side to life she never wanted to see again.

  The odd thing was that now, for the first time, she could see herself through the eyes of others, like those two dregs who thought she was theirs for the taking; and this gentle, caring man, a stranger who had come to her rescue. Seeing herself as they must have seen her was shocking.

  The shame and disgust she felt was a whole new experience, and it shook her deeply.

  ‘I insist on taking you home.’ Steve could see she was still trembling. ‘It’s not a problem for me,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘So, where do you live?’ When he noticed she appeared to have no belongings with her, he assumed her assailants must have also robbed her into the bargain. ‘Did they take your bag and coat?’ he asked.

  Ruth nodded. ‘I think they must have. I can’t remember.’ She wondered what he would think of her if he knew she had neither handbag nor coat. In fact, she was homeless and penniless, and that was only half the truth.

  ‘Cowardly scum!’ Steve was enraged. ‘Once I give the police a description of sorts, I’m sure they’ll waste no time in tracking them down.’

  ‘No, please, don’t call the police. I can’t face it. I can’t talk to them. I can’t talk to anyone about it. I feel so ashamed. I need to put the experience behind me now. Please … I’m grateful for your help, but … don’t tell the police.’ When he caught a glimpse of her upturned face, she quickly turned away. ‘I’m just glad to be safe. Let’s leave it at that.’

  Steve tried to
understand. ‘I’m not happy with the idea of them getting away scot-free,’ he said, ‘but if that’s what you want, I don’t have a choice. All right then, we’ll do it your way! The main thing for now is to get you home. Look, I’ve got a taxi on the way …’ he looked up and down the street, ‘… that is, if he hasn’t already given up on me.’

  ‘I’m able to get myself home,’ she graciously refused his offer of help. ‘Really! You’ve done enough. I don’t want to bother you any more.’ She was desperate to be rid of him, and yet she was suddenly afraid of the night and every chilling sound that echoed through those dark streets.

  Steve would not even hear of it. ‘I’m sorry, but I would never forgive myself if they came after you again. Let me at least see you into the house.’

  He was so insistent, and Ruth was hurting in every corner of her body, so she offered no resistance. ‘All right.’ She could always pretend to go inside that house with the porch. Then he would surely go away, and leave her be.

  From inside that very house, the landlady had also heard the squeals and scuffles. She was still at the window and looking down on the street when she saw a man and a woman come into view. She saw how the man was helping the woman along, and as they passed the streetlamp, she noticed how dishevelled and slow-walking the woman was. She recalled the noises earlier and couldn’t help but wonder if there had been a skirmish of sorts.

  Throwing on her frilly dressing gown, she ran down the stairs and flung open the front door, just as they arrived at the porch.

  ‘Who the devil are you? What’s going on? I heard all the yelling and carrying-on, and I couldn’t help but wonder if some poor soul was under attack.’ She took a quick look along the street from the direction they’d come. ‘Thieves and criminals inhabit these streets of a night,’ she revealed cautiously. ‘They get drunk and violent, and many a time I’ve seen them fighting each other. It’s not on. I’ve told the police time and again, the buggers want locking up!’

  She added warily, ‘To give ’em their due, the police did root them all out some time ago, but I’ve an idea they’re beginning to filter back of late. It’s not good for business. No, it is not, and I can see I’ll have to have another word.’