‘Hey! I’m talking to you. What’s wrong with yer?’ Tom seemed too calm to her, too quick to back away from her attempt at an argument.
He looked up. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me except I’m starving. And, no doubt, so is Casey. And, as I recall, it wouldn’t be for the first time.’
‘Don’t you dare have a go at me!’ Ruth snapped. ‘I’ve already told you … I had a pile of ironing and other stuff to see to. Then some man came to the door, looking to sell me some rubbish. I got rid of him, though. Ask Casey, I’m sure he’ll tell you.’ She knew he would, and her idea was to get in first. ‘… And another thing, I’m really surprised at you opening your wage packet. You never do that as a rule.’
Tom looked her in the eye for what seemed an age. He wanted to tell her so many things. He needed to share his troubling thoughts, but she was not a woman to care one way or the other, so instead he answered in a quiet voice, ‘You’re right. I don’t open my wages as a rule, but sometimes, we need to break the rules, don’t we?’
Her face reddened with guilt. ‘That’s a strange thing for you to say.’ There was something really different about him tonight, she thought … something worrying. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found out that she was having a fling with Len. She nervously toyed with the idea that he might be saving the confrontation for later; possibly after Casey had gone to bed.
‘Course I’m all right.’
Tom threw off his coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and went into the scullery. He was surprised to see the back door wide open, and the rain coming in.
‘What’s going on, Ruth?’ There it was again, that niggling suspicion.
Panicked, she stuffed the wage packet into her pocket. ‘What d’you mean? There’s nothing “going on”.’
‘It’s raining, and the back door’s wide open.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Greatly relieved, she gave the first answer that came to mind. ‘I forgot to shut it after I came up from the yard …’
‘I thought you said you’d been changing the beds?’ Now he was in no doubt she was up to her old tricks again. She had been entertaining a man and, by the looks of it, he must have left in a hurry. Tom recalled the figure he’d seen running from the ginnel. He hoped the man was not Len, because that would be humiliation twice over.
Smiling sweetly, Ruth explained, ‘I changed the beds earlier, and then I remembered I’d left the back gate open. I was running in from the rain, and didn’t remember to shut the door behind me. Besides, Casey was yelling for me.’
Closing the door, she made a show of sympathy. ‘Aw, Tom! Just look at the state of you. Come ’ere … I’d best tend to you before I go.’ She lifted the towel from the rail and tenderly ran it through his wet hair, then over his hands and face. ‘That’s better. Now then, husband, you’d better fetch Casey while I put the fish and chips out. There’s nothing so urgent from the corner shop that it won’t wait till tomorrow.’
In truth, she felt too exhausted to go traipsing all the way down the street. That Len was too energetic and demanding for his own good, she mused with a sly little smile.
When Tom took the towel from her, she felt pleased with herself at having duped him yet again. ‘I’m sorry about not having the meal ready.’ Leaning forward, she brushed his face with a fleeting kiss.
Tom could not forget the figure running from the ginnel, and even now the thick aroma of rolled tobacco lingered on her.
When she pecked him on the cheek he simply nodded and moved away. Just now, the touch of her hands was repugnant to him. Making his way out of the scullery, he slung the wet towel into the laundry bin as he went.
As Tom headed for the front parlour, he could hear Ruth loudly complained, ‘I already had sausage and mash planned and now, what with you spending money on fish and chips, I’ve no idea how I’ll stretch it for the bills and everything.’
He called back, ‘You forget, I did that overtime. So you’ll manage. There’s more than enough money to pay the bills and get Casey’s new shoes. As for my trousers, you needn’t bother.’
He was convinced that she and Len had lain together, but he thrust the ugly suspicion aside and with a quieter heart he quickened his steps.
Life could be very cruel, as he had recently learned only too well, and there was much to be afraid of. But this evening he could spend precious time with his son, and that was all he cared about.
For now.
OUTSIDE THE FRONT-ROOM Tom paused to listen. Casey had the heart and fingers of a true musician. His technique was not yet perfect, but his artistry was enchanting.
Leaning on the door jamb, his face suffused with pride, Tom murmured as though to the boy, ‘You do your daddy proud, my son. You’re not quite there with the chords, but it’s only a matter of time. More importantly, you’ve got a magic that can never be taught. And that’s what really counts.’
His eyes filled with tears. He despised what he must do. Time and again, he had tried desperately to think of an alternative, but there was none. So now he was resigned; impatient, even, to do the awful deed.
When the music stopped, Tom took a deep breath and gently pushed open the parlour door. ‘That was wonderful,’ he told the boy. ‘I’ve no doubt that one day you’ll make a fine musician.’
Happy to see his father, Casey put aside the guitar and ran to meet him, laughing out loud when Tom swung him in the air before hugging him close.
In that precious moment, with his son close to him, Tom almost lost sight of the path he had chosen. But nothing he could do or say would change what was already set in motion.
‘Was I really good?’ Casey asked when Tom set him down. ‘I asked Mam if I could play the guitar and she said yes. You’re not cross with me, are you?’
Faking a frown, Tom spoke sternly. ‘I should think so! Coming in here, playing my guitar without so much as a by-your-leave! Yes, of course, you’re in trouble. After we’ve eaten, you’re to wash all the dishes, and when that’s done, you’ll set about scrubbing the floor till I can see my face in it. After that, the back yard needs sweeping …’
Casey broke into a grin, and then both he and Tom were laughing out loud. ‘I knew you didn’t mean it,’ Casey giggled. ‘I knew you were only playing. Was I good, though, Daddy?’ he persisted. ‘Did I really play well?’
‘You did, yes. You’ve still a lot to learn, but you’re getting there, and I’m proud of you. Matter o’ fact, you’ve taken to the guitar like you were born to it.’ He ruffled the boy’s thick, brown hair. ‘Y’know what, son?’
‘What?’ As always, Casey hung on his every word.
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I reckon …’ Tom paused, wondering how to put it, ‘… yeah, I reckon the angels must have smiled on you.’
‘Really?’ Casey wasn’t sure what to make of his daddy’s comment, but he thought it might be a good thing.
‘Yes, really.’ Tom looked him in the eye, his voice low and meaningful. ‘I’ll tell you something …’ Then he thought of what he was about to do, and how it would affect this darling boy, and he was racked with pain.
Impatient, Casey caught his attention. ‘Go on then … what were you going to tell me?’
‘Listen to me, son. You must never forget what I’m about to say. I need you to think about it, and believe it. And when you