Three Letters

by Josephine Cox

  He thought about his father, and his heart was heavy. ‘I’m so glad you mended the guitar, Mr Morrison.’

  ‘So am I, Casey. It’s an extremely good guitar, with beautiful tone and presence.’

  ‘That’s what Granddad says.’

  Jake and the old fella exchanged smiles. ‘Right then. So now, it’s the moment of truth.’

  Tenderly laying it onto the counter, Jake carefully removed the instrument from the case.

  ‘Oh, look, Granddad … look!’ Jumping up and down on the spot, Casey gasped with excitement. ‘Look, Granddad, it’s all mended!’

  Overwhelmed with emotion, he ran to Jake and locked his arms round his legs. ‘Thank you … thank you so much.’ Partly thinking of what his daddy might have said, and partly because he’d feared the guitar could never be put right, his young heart was full to bursting, and now, he could not stop the tears.

  ‘Oh, now, now, Casey. You and your granddad did me a favour. It was a joy to work on your guitar.’ Having been alone these many years, Jake was taken aback with the boy’s tearful gratitude. ‘It should be me thanking you, not the other way round.’

  Somewhere deep inside, amongst all the bad memories of the downfall of his earlier life, he felt deeply indebted for the few pleasures he had; and especially just now for the gratitude of this young boy.

  Stooping to Casey’s level, he held him at arm’s length, his voice quiet, and his manner gentle. ‘I want you to know that, for me, bringing your guitar back to life really was a labour of love.’

  ‘Was it?’ Casey wasn’t sure what he meant.

  Jake explained, ‘Something happened to me many years ago, and it made me turn my back on my love for music. When your granddad brought me the broken guitar, I looked on all the sorry pieces and I wondered if I would ever be able to put it back together, and if I did, would it ever be the same again.’

  The painful memories of the bad years flooded back. ‘When I left home as a young man, I felt like that – all broken and torn inside. And now, after spending many hours taking apart your guitar and then working on it, bringing it back to life …’ he took a long, shivering breath, ‘… it was as though I was taking apart all the bad memories. Soon I realised how foolish I’d been to turn my back on the many things that I loved, like playing the piano and the violin, and all the other beautiful instruments I was taught to play as a child.’

  He gave a little self-conscious smile. ‘D’you know, Casey, I even wrote a song once. Oh, it wasn’t much good because I was only twelve, but it was mine, and I felt very proud.’

  ‘I did that, too. With Daddy.’

  Jake’s heart saddened as he looked into Casey’s eyes. ‘About your guitar – how can I explain? Well … it’s a bit like finding an old and valued friend after you thought you would never see them again.’

  Glancing reassuringly at the old fella, he then looked down on Casey’s upturned face, his voice almost inaudible as he told him, ‘A very long time ago – oh, long before you were even born – I was brought up with music all around me. It was in the air, it was part of our everyday conversations, it was in the blood … my birthright, almost.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Casey felt the undertow of emotion.

  ‘Well, yes. I was very fortunate. My father was a classical pianist, and my mother sang in concert. When my father played, I used to sit at the stool alongside him, and I would watch the keys go up and down. I would follow my father’s nimble fingers as they ran over the keys, and I marvelled at the beautiful sounds that he created.’

  The bad memories had crippled Jake, but it was these good memories that kept him warm at night. ‘As I grew a little older, my father would let me rest my hand on the back of his, and when he played, I would feel the vibrations from the keys. It was like the music was going right through me.’

  Casey was amazed. ‘That’s how I feel when I play the guitar!’

  Jake smiled knowingly. ‘Well, there you are, my boy. You have the gift, and the guitar responds. It’s a very special guitar, and that’s because it’s been loved and cherished. The thing is, some people were born to embrace the music, while others will never know, or even want to know. The magic comes from playing or singing, or even simply working on musical instruments, like I worked on your guitar.’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘I thought I might have lost the touch, but thankfully, it’s still there – that special sense of discovery and excitement – and I feel alive again. Working on your guitar, made me joyful …’ he tapped his chest, ‘… in here. It wasn’t the music that deserted me, it was I who had deserted the music. Only now do I realise how much I missed it.’

  ‘I’m glad, Mr Morrison.’ Casey flung his arms round Jake’s neck. ‘I’m so glad. ‘And I know my daddy will be glad as well.’ In that very special moment, he felt truly proud.

  Jake now addressed Granddad Bob. ‘I’ve never confided this in anyone before.’

  The memories were hurtful. ‘I was always close to my father, and after he passed on, there was a family fallout between my mother and my elder brother – all to do with the sizeable amount of money my father left. When the solicitors got involved and the bitter fight began over who had what, I saw a side to my family that sickened me. So I turned my back on everyone and everything. Sadly, that also included the music.’

  ‘It must have been painful for you.’ It was clear to the old fella that Jake had paid a high price for his family’s greed. ‘From what you say, I reckon I’d ’ave done the same. It’s a sad thing, but true, that wherever there’s a will, greed and jealousy are bound to rear their ugly heads.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Jake continued in a quiet voice, ‘I had a few good artefacts given to me over the years – birthday presents and suchlike – so I took them all and sold them off one by one, as and when needs must. They helped me to survive. When they were gone, I put my musical prowess to good use. I taught children to play. I tuned a piano here and there, and one way or another, I managed to scrape a living. But I never played again.’ He took a moment to remember. ‘To tell you the truth, I lost heart.’

  He smiled on Casey. ‘Thankfully, I’m happier and more focused than I’ve been for all these years because you and your granddad trusted me with your beloved guitar.’

  Listening to Jake’s story, Casey was shocked and sad. It made him realise how lucky he was to have known his wonderful daddy; to have his granddad, and Dolly, and now his guitar. Every night he cried for his daddy, although he was careful not to let Granddad Bob hear him. Yet there was also a small part of him that cried for his mam.

  The old fella, too, had been deeply moved by Jake’s confession. ‘Did you never contact your family again?’ he asked.

  ‘No, and I never will. Too much bitterness was festering. Too much was said that couldn’t be unsaid, and besides, I’ve found my place in life, and I’m happy.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sorry for chatting on. I’ve never spoken to anyone about my past before.’

  ‘Me and the boy … we’re glad to have been here for you. Rest assured, what you’ve said here today will go no further.’

  ‘Thank you, both.’

  Collecting the guitar, he held it out to Bob. ‘So now, you need to satisfy yourself that the guitar plays as it should play.’

  Taking the guitar from him, the old fella turned it over in his hands and after strumming a few chords, he smiled. ‘It’s good, yes.’ He was pleased. ‘It’s well tuned and the pitch is just right.’

  Jake was pleased. ‘You need to play it,’ he urged.

  Without a word, Granddad Bob brought his gaze to the boy, and it was as though a kind of understanding passed between them. ‘You know what, Jake,’ he kept his gaze on the boy, while addressing the other man, ‘I reckon there’s only one person who can tell you whether you’ve managed to keep the character of this very special guitar.’

  ‘I see.’ Jake followed Bob’s loving gaze, and he felt that he was part of something deep and beautiful between the old ma
n and the boy.

  With a proud and aching heart for his lost son, Granddad Bob gave the guitar into the boy’s uplifted arms. ‘Make it sing, lad,’ he whispered shakily. ‘And remember,’ he gave a reassuring wink, ‘your daddy’s listening.’

  Handing the guitar to the boy, he glanced at Jake, while brushing aside the solitary tear that trickled down his weathered old face.

  Cradling the guitar, Casey thought he had never been happier in the whole of his life than he was right now; except for when his daddy first let him play his guitar.

  He took a moment to think of his daddy, then, sitting on the edge of the chair, he settled himself comfortably. With the guitar in place and his heart fluttering like a bird, he smiled up at the two men.

  ‘Are you ready, Granddad?’

  ‘Oh, yes, lad … we’re ready.’

  The two men did not know what to expect and Jake in particular, was nervous. First, even though it had been restored and tuned to perfection, it was possible that the instrument might not be exactly the same as before. Like a person, a guitar had a heart, and that heart was created by years of playing it and caring for it. During that very special bonding period, the player and the instrument became almost as one. The player would bring the instrument to life, and the guitar would echo the mood of its master.

  In that low-lit, cluttered room, the two men waited. Granddad Bob sent up a silent prayer, asking that the boy would play from the heart, and that holding the guitar that his daddy had held might bring him a measure of comfort.

  He knew what a bittersweet trial it would be for Casey to sing and to play like his daddy had taught him. Now, though, as Casey prepared himself, he felt the boy’s determination, and his old heart swelled with pride.

  Jake Morrison, however, simply crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping his delicate workmanship would meet with their approval.

  ‘What shall I play, Granddad?’

  ‘Whatever you like, lad. Mebbe for now you could just play the lovely melody that you and your daddy wrote together?’ The old fella recalled the very day. It had been his sixtieth birthday. Tom and Casey came to his house to sing the song they’d written just for him, and to this day it remained one of his most precious memories.

  Closing his eyes, Casey did what he had seen his father do; he slowly ran his hands over the instrument, in his heart and mind renewing his relationship with the guitar, and allowing the memories to gentle through him.

  Because of what Granddad had just told him, and because of the way he felt inside, Casey truly believed that his daddy would hear every note he played and, more than anything else, he did not want to disappoint him.

  So, with his eyes downcast, he began to play, and the words fell from his lips naturally, even though it had been a long time since he and his daddy had sung them together.

  When you have … someone to love,

  The world … is a beautiful place …

  When the wind blows cold … and the skies grow dark,

  Love holds the sunshine … strong in your heart.

  There were three verses, and Granddad Bob knew them by heart. Each line added to the story of a man’s love for his family. They revealed the joy he felt, and showed the wonder of having someone to lift your heart, even on the darkest day.

  As Casey sang, the two men in his audience were made to think on what they had each lost through the years.

  Granddad Bob thought of his late beloved wife, Anne, and the son, Tom, who had been taken from him too soon, though he felt blessed that he had a wonderful grandson who was both caring and talented. Also, he was extra blessed, because he had been given a second chance at love, with the lovely Dolly.

  Jake was reminded of the special relationship he had had with his dear father, and the awful bickering that had torn his family apart. Already he had been made to realise how lonely his life had become. Now, though, on hearing Casey’s song, he fleetingly entertained the idea of a reconciliation with his family.

  In a low, emotionally charged voice, Casey continued the song. He felt the guitar come alive in his hands, and his tears were not far away. In his mind his daddy’s image was wonderfully clear, and at one point the boy gave a little smile, as though to his daddy.

  As he played, he recalled the very day when he and his daddy had sung the song to Granddad Bob. He even remembered the old man having a tear in his eyes, like now.

  He could even recall what his daddy had told him before they set off for Granddad Bob’s house: ‘It’s not a proper song, nor is it perfect, but then nothing is. Anyway, m’boy, your granddad will love it because he’ll know we wrote the words to tell him how much we cherish him. Oh, and best of all, nobody else will ever have a present like it. So there we are!’

  Now, in that most curious place, the touching words and gentle music carried through the room. The music was joyous, and the boy’s melodic voice, though familiar to the old fella, was most surprising to Jake.

  When the last note reverberated through the shop, everyone clapped.

  In a shaky voice Granddad Bob told Casey, ‘By! Your daddy would be so proud of yer, lad … as I am.’

  Jake said he had not been moved like that in a very long time. ‘It was wonderful.’

  ‘That were really lovely!’ Having listened from outside, Patrick Riley had crept in so quietly, the others were unaware that he was there. ‘I never heard anything so sweet in all me life. You’ve a voice like an angel, so ye have!’ He apologised to Bob. ‘I’m sorry to have interrupted, but I’m not here to buy anything … as if I could, with no money in me pockets. And even if I had, I wouldn’t be so flippant as to waste it on fancy things, as you well know, Bob.’ He nodded to the old fella.

  ‘So why have you come in then?’ Knowing his old friend, Bob was ready for a long, outlandish tale.

  ‘Why do ye tink I came in?’ Paddy was insulted.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘For your information, I came in because I got a fright. I don’t mind telling ye, I heard the music, and the loveliest voice, and I thought the angels had come to fetch me, so I did!’

  Granddad Bob chuckled. ‘That tells me you had a few pints too many last night. Am I right?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing.’ Patrick made a comical face.

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  ‘I will say one thing though, Bob.’ Patrick’s gaze softened as it fell on Casey. ‘That wee boy is too talented to be one o’ yours.’

  ‘You’re right, Patrick. When I sing, the dogs howl in the street.’

  When Granddad Bob looked on Casey he saw a small, lost boy, who pined for his daddy, and his heart ached. Without a word, he opened his arms and the boy ran to him.

  ‘I wish Daddy was here.’ Casey’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘Do you really think he was listening, Granddad?’

  ‘Aye, lad, I do. An’ I reckon he’s celebrating up there, telling everyone how proud he is.’ Placing his finger beneath the boy’s chin, he lifted his face to look at him. ‘We’re all proud of you, lad.’ He smiled at his old friend. ‘And look there, you even brought Patrick in off the streets. What d’yer think to that, eh?’

  ‘I think it’s really good.’ With a shaky smile, he looked at Patrick. ‘Thank you, Patrick. I’m glad you came in to listen.’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ Patrick confessed. ‘Sure, the minute I heard you play the guitar, oh, and then the singing …’ he threw his arms out in a gesture of amazement, ‘… well now, I’m telling ye straight, me feet had a mind o’ their own. Before I knew it, I was inside the shop, an’ me feet were glued to the floor, so they were.’

  Delighted with the Irishman’s involvement, Casey asked, ‘Did your feet get glued to the floor, Mr Morrison?’

  ‘Well, young man, like your friend here,’ he gestured to Patrick, ‘I think I also must have been glued to the floor, because even if the shop caught fire, I would have had to stay until you’d finished your song. In all my life, I ha
ve never heard anything more beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Morrison, and I think your shop is beautiful too, so I hope it doesn’t catch fire.’

  Granddad Bob had listened to these two men – so different in taste and background, yet brought together by the talents of his grandson – and he was so proud he could burst. ‘He’s right, lad!’ he told Casey. ‘They’re both right. And we mustn’t forget we owe Mr Morrison a debt of gratitude, for bringing your guitar back to life.’

  When Casey thanked Jake again, he replied solemnly, ‘With great respect, your granddad is wrong, Casey. It wasn’t me who brought your guitar back to life, it was you. All I did was to put the pieces back together again.’

  Patrick had an idea. ‘I’m wondering if you’d like to earn a bob or two playing your guitar, lad – if your granddad will allow it, I mean?’ He gave a wary glance at the old fella. ‘As you know, Bob, I keep a market stall of a Saturday, an’ I were wondering if the lad might want to play beside my stall? Folks would be so delighted, they’re sure to drop a coin or two into his hat. What d’you say?’

  Casey began jumping up and down with excitement. ‘Please, Granddad, can I? Oh, I’d like to play for the people … please?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Granddad Bob needed to think. He pursed his lips, then he sucked his bottom lip, and now he was staring down at the boy. ‘You’ll still need to do your schoolwork, and be in bed by eight thirty … every night, mind!’

  ‘I will, Granddad, I promise.’

  ‘And if the folks like you so much that they drop coins into your hat, like Patrick said, what would you do with ’em?’

  ‘I’d give them to you.’

  ‘Think again, lad.’

  ‘All right, if you don’t want them, I’d give them to Dolly.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I’d save them in a jar then.’

  ‘No, you won’t, lad.’

  For a moment, Casey was confused as to what he should do if the people gave him coins. And then it dawned on him. ‘I’ll give them to Patrick.’

  ‘Well said, lad. And why would you do that?’