Three Letters (14 page)

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 though 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.’

Tom was not listening. He had heard the train whistle from far off, and he knew what he must do.

Tom was touched by the way the lady had addressed him in that same easy, familiar way his own father did.

Tom recalled the day he and his father came right here to this very bridge, to spot the trains.

He’d been so excited, he’d leaned far over
the wall in order to see the trains better, until his father had swiftly hoisted him back with a gentle reprimand. ‘Don’t you ever do that again, son. Them trains don’t stop for nothing, least of all for a scrap of a boy like you.’ He’d led Tom away. ‘I’m sorry, son, but you gave me a real fright, leaning over like that.’ He’d marched Tom to King Street and into old John’s toffee shop, where he treated
him to a glass of sarsaparilla.

Just then, in his tortured mind, Tom could clearly see himself and his father on this very spot where he stood now. For a moment, the image hurt so much he could hardly breathe. But the moment passed, and his intention remained strong.

This was the place where he had known such joy and laughter. He belonged here, together with all the wonderful memories.

He heard
the woman bid him good night. He watched her walk away, calling out as she went, ‘Mind how you go, young man!’

The train whistle sounded nearer. Feeling strangely calm, Tom sat on the wall, his legs dangling over; his gaze following the rising steam as it approached.

Just a short distance away, Dolly was greatly relieved to find her little dog. ‘You naughty scamp!’

Threading the lead through
his collar, she turned to make her way back, when she heard the scream of the train whistle. It was very close. Some deep inner instinct urged her to quicken her steps. On nearing the bridge, she tried to make out the young man, but the steam rose and hid him from sight.

As the train sped towards him, Tom waited for the right moment. When it came, he hesitated for just a split second, then with
a forgiving heart, he leaned forward, loosened his hold and slid softly away.

His last thoughts before the train hit him full on were for Casey and his father.

His last
words
, however, were for the woman who had caused her son and himself such torment. ‘I love you, Ruth. I always have.’

Dolly was just a short distance away, when she saw him let go of the wall. And then, in the blink of an eye,
he was gone.

‘Oh God, NO … NO!’ Shocked and tearful, she ran forward, but it was too late. Realising what his intentions had been all along, she now understood his anxiety to send her away.

How she wished with all her heart that she had stayed, and talked a while longer. If only she’d persuaded him to confide in her, she might have prevented him from doing such a shocking thing.

Shaken to her
very bones, she remained momentarily transfixed to the spot. She wanted to peer over the wall, but was terrified of what she might see. Through the turmoil in her mind she knew it was too late. Mere flesh and blood could never have survived such an impact.

With the initial trauma beginning to ebb away, she began violently shaking. Then she was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I should have stayed with
him. I should have stopped him.’ She blamed herself.

Screaming out to raise the alarm, she crossed the street at a run. ‘Help! Please … somebody.’ Reaching her next-door neighbour’s house, she banged her fists on the door and yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Billy! Open the door.’ She stole a nervous, fleeting glimpse at the bridge where the young man had been, ‘BILLY! For God’s sake open this
door!’

When the door was opened by a sleepy, middle-aged man in his pyjamas, she rushed past him, the words tumbling out in a rush as she told him what she had seen. Then she was sobbing helplessly, holding onto him, telling him about ‘that sad young man’ and how she had an idea of what he meant to do. ‘I should’ve stayed with him. I should have stopped him …’

When she grew hysterical, Billy
firmly urged her to stay calm and speak clearly.

When he understood the details he asked quietly, ‘Are you sure he meant to jump? Could he not have accidentally slipped from the wall?’

Dolly shook her head. ‘No … no!’ Thinking back, she could see the incident so clearly in her mind it was too shocking to comprehend. ‘He just … let go of the wall and slid over the edge. He …’ she took a deep
breath, ‘… he told me he was going to meet a friend at the station, but I know now that was a lie. There was no friend. He waited for the train to come …’ her voice quivered, ‘… he was waiting for the train to get close enough to the bridge, and then he just …’

Momentarily silent, she knew she would never forgive herself for not staying there to keep him company, to talk with him. ‘I blame myself,’
she murmured. ‘I should have realised …’

‘Hey, it’s not your fault,’ Billy calmed her. ‘If that young man truly meant to jump from the bridge, there’s nothing whatsoever you could have done to stop him. If you’d stayed, he might have moved away, but probably only until you were out of sight. From what you tell me, I reckon he was determined.’

Dolly was past listening. Instead, she was rocking
back and forth in the chair, quietly sobbing and chunnering to herself.

After gently quietening her, Billy firmly advised, ‘We’d best call the police. When they get here, you must tell them exactly, what you just told me.’

C
ASEY WAS OUT
of bed and eager to see his father, when he heard a car door slam shut in the street below.

Having already pulled one sock up to his ankle, he now hopped awkwardly to the window, while continuing to pull it up to his knee.

For a fleeting moment he thought about his mother, and the awful row that had brought him and his dad here. He had stayed over with his granddad
Bob many times before, but never with his dad in the next room. Now, though, he needed to talk to him about his mam and everything …

Throwing open the curtains, he closed his mind to the bad things his mam had said. Instead, he chose to concentrate only on what his dad had told him afterwards: that he was his son, and always would be.

Curious now, Casey pressed his nose to the windowpane. Looking
down, he noticed one police officer standing by a black car, and another policeman climbing out of the other side and making his way round to the pavement. He saw the severe expressions on their faces, and when the two officers went to the front door of Granddad Bob’s house, a sense of dread came over Casey.

Why were they here? What did the police want with Granddad Bob? Was he in trouble? Then
Casey thought of the row between his parents.
‘It’s Mam! She’s called the police to come and take me away.’
Or had she sent them for his dad? Had she lied and claimed that he’d hit her? Casey knew she’d lied before. But how could the police take his dad away when he had done nothing wrong?

He had to go down and tell the police … his dad had done nothing wrong. It was his mam’s fault. Look how
she’d punched him with her fists, and when Dad tried to stop her she went mad and broke Granddad Bob’s guitar. It was all her fault.

Quickly, he grabbed his other grey sock and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he struggled to put it on.

Rushing to the other bedroom, Casey was surprised to see that the bed was made and his father was nowhere in sight. Assuming he must be downstairs with Granddad
Bob, he ran towards the stairs.