RETURNING FROM HIS self-imposed exile, Don thrilled at the sight of his old home town, with its huge Victorian station and sprawling boulevard and the ordinary folks going about their daily grind. The man was there as always, selling hot potatoes from his hand-cart, and strolling amongst the crowd, the flower-seller sold the last of her colourful blooms. ‘I’m home!’ he muttered with a surge of joy. ‘Home where I belong.’
As the tram prepared to move out, the conductor caught sight of the man running towards them. ‘Another minute and you’d have missed us altogether!’ Pressing his finger to the bell button, he stopped the tram from leaving. ‘Come on, matey – hurry up!’ he shouted. ‘We’re already late.’
‘Aw, thanks.’ Don scrambled aboard. ‘I thought I’d missed it for sure.’ Wending his way down to the far end, he seated himself by the window. It was good to be back in Blackburn, he thought. He had been away too long, and with every passing day he missed his family more than he could ever have imagined. But when he went away, he had left in anger, angry at his father-in-law for having been weak just like himself in not taking Rita to task earlier … though he was deeply fond of that dear old man and ashamed that he had let him down.
He had been angry with his son, Davie, for wanting to stay with his mother, when time and again Rita had pushed them all to the limit, until in the end he could stand no more. But then Davie was fiercely loyal and independent, with a love for family that was deeply protective. Yet on that awful night, the boy’s love and loyalty was torn all ways. That night, they all had choices to make; Rita to mend her ways or continue going downhill and taking them all with her; the old man had to decide whether he was prepared to go on accepting things the way they were, and Davie, just a boy with his world collapsing about him, was forced into choosing to stay with his father or defend his mother. Such a choice must have been the hardest thing for any child. So, Davie chose his mammy, and who could blame him for that? Certainly not himself, for he knew only too well how wonderful Rita could be, and how easy it was to love her. He only hoped his son had not lived to regret his choice, the way his daddy had done so many times.
These past years, he had half hoped that somehow his son would find him. When it did not happen, he was disappointed but not altogether surprised. Now, all he wanted was to reunite his family again, and pray they could build a better future together.
There were many regrets for the hurt he had caused by walking out. He hoped they would forgive him, especially Rita. She had been the love of his life and he could never see himself loving any other woman in the same way.
His deepest anger had been reserved for his wife. For it was she in the end who had split the family apart; with her wanton ways and her lack of remorse or shame, she had a great deal to answer for. His anger for this woman he had loved forever and still loved, had crippled him for a long, long time. And when at last it finally subsided, there grew in him a great sense of loss, more painful than anything that had gone before.
He missed old Joseph, and he missed his son, Davie, so very much. And for all her sins, he ached for Rita, his sweetheart, that bright, happy girl who had captured his heart with her first smile. Through all the anger and pain, and the time that had gone between, he loved her still. He had never stopped loving her.
And now he was back home, humbled and lonely, with a desperate need to draw his family back together and turn over a new leaf and God willing to help Rita do the same.
‘All aboard that’s coming aboard!’ The conductor pressed the bell button for leaving; at the same time taking stock of his new passenger, who was tall and well-built, with a long, confident stride.
‘You were lucky to catch the tram,’ he told him now. ‘Another minute and we’d have been gone, and you’d have had to wait a long time for the next one.’
Don thanked him again. ‘I’ve been away,’ he explained. ‘I came in on the train. It was late, that’s what held me up. But I’m here now, on my way home, and glad of it.’
‘So, you’ve been away in Ireland, have you?’
‘How did you know I was from Ireland?’ Don asked.
‘Ah, well, I’ve got a good ear for accents. But from what I can tell, you’ve lived longer in England than you have in your homeland, am I right?’
With a chuckle, Don quipped, ‘The Irish girls wouldn’t take me on, so I found mea Lancashire lass.’
‘And did you ever regret it?’ the conductor asked idly.
It seemed an age before Don answered, and when he did, it was in such a husky voice, the other man had to lean down to hear him. ‘No, I don’t think I ever did regret it,’ he murmured. ‘Though there were certain things I might like to have changed along the way.’
The conductor laughed. ‘Aren’t there always?’ he answered. ‘We love ’em and wed ’em, but there’s none of ’em perfect, and never will be. But for all that, we’d rather not be without ’em.’ Turning the handle of the clumsy machine strapped round his shoulder, he concluded the conversation. ‘Where to?’
‘I’m headed for Derwent Street, and as far as I can recall, the tram doesn’t go there?’
The conductor shook his head. ‘That’s right. Sorry, matey. You still have to get off at King Street and walk up to Derwent Street.’
Don held out his loose change. ‘King Street it is then.’
Taking the correct number of coins, the tram-conductor dropped them into the leather pouch around his waist, and proceeded to roll off the ticket. ‘My own wife comes from County Cork,’ he went on. ‘Her grandfather came to England looking for work years ago, and the whole family followed.’
He sighed. ‘My Rosie is a real beauty. When she was young, her hair was red as fire … it’s faded a bit now, more’s the pity,’ he gabbled on. ‘By! She’s got one hell of temper, though. That’s what they say, don’t they? “Red hair, red temper”.’
When Don held out his hand for the ticket, the conductor made no move to give it him. ‘So, what about yourself?’ he asked. ‘Are you home to stay, or are you on a visit?’ He then handed Don the ticket. ‘Sorry. I hope you don’t mind me being nosy?’
‘No, I don’t mind at all.’ Though in truth, Don would rather be left alone right now. Friendly though the conductor was, he himself was not in the mood for talking. ‘And to answer your question, I’ve lived away for some time, but now I’m back to stay.’
‘Been away earning the money, have you?’
‘You could say that, yes.’ But none of it had gone to his family, he thought guiltily. They had had to manage without his wage for all these years.
‘Do you have children?’
‘A son.’ Don pictured Davie in his mind. ‘He’ll be eighteen now.’ His heart shuddered. It was some five years since he had seen Davie. Would he look the same? Would he want his father anywhere near? Had he forgiven him for leaving that night? And what about Rita? When they parted, it had been with bitterness, so how would she feel now, when he turned up at the door? Would she still be drinking and leading the life of Riley, or would she have settled down by now? And Davie would be out at work, keeping food on the table. Would he be in the same line of work as himself, Don wondered, recalling the hours they had spent together, making things for the house. He felt so excluded from their lives.
Realising he was not in the mood for chit-chat, the conductor prepared to move on. ‘Good luck to you then,’ he said, and approached his next passenger, a grey-haired, grey-faced woman. ‘Hello, Mrs Armitage. And how are you today?’
While the conductor chatted, Don watched as the familiar streets opened out to him, and when the tram turned into King Street, his heart was full, the memories almost too much to bear. The sights lifted his spirits, and he felt like an exile returning to everything he loved. This was his home, his life – and oh, dear God, how he had missed it!
For the millionth time, all the old questions rampaged through his mind. Why had he run away? Why couldn’t he have stayed and tried harder with Rita? Had she changed now? he wondered again. Had his leaving brought her to her senses? Or was she still gallivanting, bedding every man she met? Moreover, had she found someone to replace him?
Torturing himself, he began to believe the worst. So, had he done the right thing in coming back, or should he have left well alone and made a permanent life for himself, away from these parts, and away from Rita? It wasn’t as though he himself hadn’t had the occasional relationship, because he had. But there had been nothing serious, nor had he led the women to believe anything otherwise. They were mere time-fillers, until he found the strength to come home and make amends with Rita, once and for all.
And now here he was, worried and anxious about the outcome. Either she would turn him away, or, like him, she had been lonely, aching for things to be as they used to be … before it all went wrong.
As they travelled along King Street, he glanced out of the window. There was the picture-house and the row of shops. And now they were nearing the pretty narrow bridge in front of the greengrocer’s. Suddenly the tram was stopping and he really began to panic. Should he stay on the tram and go back to tramp the hills and valleys of Ireland, where he had hidden away all these years? Or should he brave it out and take the consequences, whatever they were?
Yes, he should! He had to, or he would always regret it. And what of Davie, and the look on his young face as his daddy went out the door? What had the boy been thinking in that awful moment, and had he hated him ever since?
For one terrifying moment, Don’s courage almost deserted him. Then he remembered how close he and his son had been, up until that shocking event when anger exploded and he burst out of the house. And then, after he left for Ireland, he had suffered from devastating loneliness, from days that never seemed to end, sleepless nights and the deep-down yearning that wouldn’t go away.
His family were the most precious things on God’s earth to him, and for these five long years, he had let his pride keep him away.
But he was here now, and come what may, this was where he would end his days. And if Rita didn’t want him, he would make a new life nearby. He would work hard to win back his son’s trust and love. And never again would he desert him.
‘King Street!’ The conductor’s voice rang out as the tram shuddered to a halt. ‘Good day to you,’ he addressed Don with a cheery grin. ‘Mind how you go now.’ He watched him go down the road, occasionally pausing deep in thought. ‘A troubled man, that’s what you are,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever it is you’re bracing yourself for, I’d rather be me than you.’
He was taken unawares when an elderly woman poked him on the shoulder with her walking-stick. ‘Does this tram stop at Mill Hill?’
‘Oh, sorry, darling, I was miles away!’ He helped her aboard. ‘Yes, it does stop at Mill Hill, and goes all the way to Samlesbury.’
When the woman was safely in her seat, he pressed the button to leave; with a last glance at Don’s departing figure, he thanked his lucky stars that he himself led a simple, uncomplicated life. When his work was done, he went home to a hearty meal and sometimes, if his wife was in the mood, a bit of slap and tickle before he went to sleep. He was a contented man who worked hard and provided, and with a good woman to tend his every need, he wanted nothing more.
Unaware that his long-estranged son-in-law was on his way home, Joseph finished his pot of tea, put on his jacket, filled his pipe with baccy, and resumed his seat on the doorstep, enjoying the mild spring air.
Come rain or shine, he spent many an hour on his doorstep. In the winter when the fumes from the coal fire got down his chest, he would put on his overcoat and take refuge outside, while in the warmer weather like now, he would sit with his mug of tea and his pipe of baccy, and simply watch the world go by.
These days, it was the only real pleasure he had; save for when Judy would come by and they would talk about her young dreams, and he would tell stories about his own youth. These past few years, the girl had been his salvation, and he valued her for the genuine friend she had been to him.
‘Good day to you, Joseph!’ That was the lady from the corner shop. ‘Don’t sit there too long,’ she advised with a wag of her chubby finger. ‘They say it might rain later, and you don’t want to be catching a chill.’
Returning her greeting, Joseph joked as usual, ‘I won’t mind a bit o’ rain, Elsie.’ He gave her a knowing wink. ‘It’ll save you giving me a bath later.’
‘Away with you, Joseph,’ she laughed aloud. ‘Saying things like that will get the whole street talking!’ And she trotted up the road feeling twenty years younger.
‘Up to your old tricks, are you, Joe?’ Having overheard the mischievous conversation, Lenny Reynolds paused a moment at the old man’s doorstep.
‘Aw, she loves a bit o’ flirting,’ Joseph chuckled. ‘It makes her day. Besides, we might be old in the tooth, but we can’t have folks thinking we’re past it, can we, eh?’
‘No, that would never do.’ Lenny enjoyed his little chats with Joseph. After everything he’d been through, the man could still be very entertaining. ‘And how are you today, Joseph – apart from chatting up the women?’
‘I’m all right, thank you, Lenny. And how are you, lad?’
‘Fine and dandy, thank you.’ He threw off his work satchel. ‘OK if I sit beside you for a while?’ He always enjoyed the banter with Joseph, and besides, it was good to catch up with news of the lovely Judy Makepeace.
‘Course ye can.’ Joseph shifted along the step. ‘Sit yerself down, young fella-me-lad.’ He had a lot of time for Lenny. He had seen him grow from boy to man these past four years, until now he was a handsome, strapping fellow who, in spite of his disinterested parents, had turned out really well. He already had a thriving greengrocer stall on Blackburn market, and was saving up to buy a shop in the heart of town. Oh yes! Lenny Reynolds was going places.
‘Tell you what,’ Joseph clambered up. ‘Come inside and you can tell me how the business is going.’ He smiled into Lenny’s brown eyes. ‘Judy was around earlier. She’s learning to drive, did you know that?’ He wasn’t surprised to see how, at the mention of the girl’s name, Lenny’s face lit up like a beacon.
As they went down the passageway towards the back parlour, the torrent of questions never stopped. ‘When did she start learning to drive? Who’s teaching her? Did she mention me? Will she be popping round again, d’you think?’
‘Hold on, lad!’ Joseph dropped himself into the chair. ‘You can’t give yourself a minute to breathe, what with Judy this and Judy that!’ He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Go and put the kettle on,’ he said. ‘All them questions ’ave fair worn me out!’ As Lenny went to the kitchen, Joseph called out, ‘Oh, an’ I wouldn’t mind a drop o’ the good stuff in me tea. You’ll find it in the bottom cupboard. And don’t be too stingy with it, neither.’
In a surprisingly short time, Lenny was back with two mugs of tea and the biscuit barrel. ‘I found the brandy,’ he told Joseph. ‘I put a good measure in your tea, and there’s still a bit left for a nightcap.’
Setting the biscuits and mug of tea down beside Joseph, he sat down in the other armchair and watched as his neighbour took a generous swig of the hot liquid. ‘Aw, that’s just what the doctor ordered.’ Joseph smacked his lips. ‘It might ’ave tasted even better if you’d tipped the lot in, but so long as there’s a drop left to help me sleep, I’ll not grumble. Thank you.’ He raised his cup. ‘You’re a good lad.’
Though he had come to respect Lenny, Joseph had no liking whatsoever for the boy’s parents. Devious crafty pair they were, he thought. They smiled and chatted to your face, while behind your back they were pure poison. He had never suspected how false they were, until one day he heard them talking in the backyard – about Joseph’s family having left him to his own devices. ‘We should keep him sweet while we can,’ he heard that bitch next door say. ‘After all, he’s got nobody else to leave his few belongings to, and who knows? He might well have a bit of money stashed away somewhere.’
After that, Joseph had little to do with them. He nodded and smiled, and graciously declined their offers of help, and Ron and Patsy Reynolds were satisfied that he knew nothing of their expectations.
Lenny was a different kettle of fish. It was common knowledge that he didn’t get on with his parents, and that they had little time for him. So Joseph befriended him, and sometimes the two of them would sit in his parlour putting the world to rights, and Lenny would confide in him – about how he had always felt as though he didn’t belong to his parents. Sometimes he sensed that they resented him, and he didn’t know why.
Joseph would reassure him, and he would go away less troubled, and in return for the bond of friendship that had grown between them, Lenny kept a wary eye on Joseph. When the old man was feeling under the weather, he would run errands for him, and make sure the house was warm and Joseph was eating properly.
For now though, Lenny sipped his tea and listened while Joseph rambled on, about how he missed his family, and how he wished to God he could turn the clock back, because if he could, then he’d happen be more tolerant and not let things get out of hand the way they had done on that particular night when it all ended in tragedy.
Lenny wisely made no comment. It was not his place to pass an opinion on Joseph’s family, or the way it had been; though like everyone else down the street, he knew how shamelessly Rita Adams had behaved, and brought the family into disrepute.
Joseph went on, eyes down and staring at the floor, his hands relentlessly twisting round his mug of tea. ‘I lost it all,’ he said brokenly, ‘my young grandson and my only daughter … and a son-in-law who had never set a foot wrong that I know of. That night though, he couldn’t take any more, d’you see? It all blew up in our faces and there was nothing I could do. One minute I had a family all round me, and the next – I was standing in this very parlour, all alone. And oh, the silence after that terrible row. That’s what struck me the most … the awful silence.’ He gave a deep long sigh. ‘They’re all gone now, but not the silence. That’s always there.’
The more he sipped of his tea, the more Joseph rambled on. ‘One way and another we all suffered the consequences of that night. We all paid a price for my daughter’s behaviour. She lost her life; Don went away and never came back, and as for young Davie … I daren’t think how he must have suffered. Y’see, he really believed he could save his mammy from her bad ways, but in the end it were himself as needed the saving.’
He raised his red-raw eyes to Lenny. ‘Not a single day goes by when I don’t think about the lad. If I find myself feeling abandoned and lonely, what does he feel, eh? That’s what I ask myself.’
He took a deep breath, as though the memories weighed him down. A long pause, and he was talking again. ‘So where is he, my Davie? How is he surviving, or did he not survive at all? The police say they searched high and low for him, but I sometimes wonder if they were trying hard enough. After all, he were nearly fourteen. Happen they thought he were old enough to take care of himself.’
Lenny patiently let him talk away the memories, just as he had done many times since the departure of Joseph’s family. Living next door to him all these years had made him appreciate just how lonely the old man must be. ‘Joseph?’ Exhausted now, old Joe was staring into space.
‘What’s that you say, lad?’ Joseph was brought sharply to attention.
‘I was just thinking. Is there anything I can do for you?’
Joseph shook his head, cleared his throat and thanking Lenny for his gracious offer, he answered with a smile, ‘The only thing that can ease my pain is for my family to be here.’ Though, after five long years alone, he had come to believe that neither Davie nor Don would ever come this way again.
Before emotion overwhelmed him again, he quickly changed the subject. ‘Well then, young fella-me-lad,’ he asked brightly, ‘How’s the business doing?’
‘It’s good,’ came the proud answer. ‘At long last I’ve taken on an assistant. She’s hard-working and honest as the day is long.’
Joseph was duly impressed. ‘An assistant, eh? And who might that be?’
‘Annie Needham – and before you say anything, she’s changed. She’s not so bold and loud as she was. In fact, she seems to have grown up, all of a sudden. She came and asked me for a job on the stall, and I said I’d give her a week’s trial. She worked like a trooper, and the customers really seem to like her. So I’ve made the job permanent. She helps me with the stall, she collects and delivers when I’m off buying, and if I need her to, she’ll get stuck into the accounts, and from what I’ve seen I’d trust her implicitly.’
‘Well, I never! And she’s not disappointed you at all?’
‘Not so far, no.’
Joseph was pleasantly surprised. ‘At one time, Tom Makepeace forbade Judy from having owt to do with Annie. Said as how she was too keen on the menfolk, and the few times she came here with Judy, you could hear her halfway down the street. Gob on her like the Mersey Tunnel, folks used to say.’ But for all that, he had taken a liking to Judy’s friend. ‘If she’s changed as you say, then it can only be for the best.’ He chuckled. ‘One thing’s for certain, it couldn’t get any worse!’
Lenny admitted, ‘I was nervous about taking her on at first. But she proved me wrong. In fact, I don’t think I’d have got a better assistant if I’d scoured the whole of Lancashire. I can take off and deal with other things and leave her in charge, and when I come back, everything’s in order and everything accounted for.’
Joseph congratulated him. ‘That’s wonderful news, lad. Well done, the pair of you.’ He could always give credit where credit was due.
‘I’ve got some other news that’s even more wonderful.’ Leaning forward, as though to avoid anyone else hearing what he had to say, Lenny lowered his voice. ‘I think I’ve managed to swing it at last,’ he confided excitedly. ‘I’ve discussed a deal with the owner of that shop in the high street I mentioned the last time we chatted. The bank manager is right behind me, and so long as nothing comes along to clobber it, the deal is good as done.’
Joseph was thrilled. ‘Aw, lad, that’s grand … bloody grand!’ He shook Lenny by the hand. ‘An’ it’s no more than you deserve …’ Laughing out loud, he tipped the rest of the brandy into Lenny’s tea. ‘This calls for a celebration,’ he said. ‘Here’s to you, son – and may you go on to own a chain o’ greengrocers right across Lancashire!’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Raising their mugs of tea, they clanked them together and downed the drinks in one go.
They talked awhile about the new shop. ‘Once I’ve got the lie of the land, I plan to sell gift-wrapped baskets of fruit. I’ve just started selling them on the stall and they’ve increased my profit no end,’ Lenny said proudly.
Joseph told him, ‘If you keep on like this, I’ve no doubt you’ll be a millionaire one day.’
‘That’s what Judy said,’ Lenny said wistfully. ‘I told her how badly I wanted the shop, but she doesn’t know I’ve managed to do the deal.’
Joseph had long imagined Lenny and Judy making a go of it together. ‘It would be good if you could find someone to share it all with, don’t you think?’
‘So … have you found a sweetheart yet?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘What about the girl you took out last weekend – her from Leyland Street?’
Lenny shook his head. ‘She was good company, but that’s all.’
‘So, there’s still nobody you like enough to put a ring on their finger?’
‘No, there’s nobody special,’ Lenny sighed. ‘I’ve dated a few girls, but it never comes to anything serious.’
‘Ah, well!’ Joseph was no fool. ‘That’s because you’ve only got eyes for young Judy.’
Lenny blushed. ‘How did you know that?’
‘’Cause I’ve seen you!’ the old man retorted. ‘When she comes round to pay me a visit, you never tek yer eyes off her. Mesmerised, you are!’ He gave a cheeky wink. ‘Mind you, I’m not surprised, ’cause she’s a real lovely lass.’ He nudged Lenny in the ribs. ‘Why don’t you ask her out?’ he suggested mischievously. ‘Tek her to the pictures or summat.’
Lenny’s eyes lit up. ‘If I did ask her, d’you think she’d say yes?’
‘Who knows?’ On the occasions when Joseph had seen these two young people talking and laughing together, they were more like mates, with Judy seemingly content to leave the relationship as it was. But it was a well-known fact that a girl could always change her mind. ‘If you don’t ask her, you’ll never know,’ he warned. ‘Anyhow, what have you got to lose?’
‘Her friendship, maybe.’ Lenny was afraid of taking that first real step. ‘I don’t want her to turn away from me altogether.’
‘Aw, lad … she would never do that.’ Joseph was certain of it. ‘In life you meet all sorts o’ folks,’ he told Lenny now. ‘Them as mek a good pretence o’ being friendly, an’ them as are friends to the last. Judy is a true friend. Through thick and thin, she would never turn away from you.’
Being made to think about it, Lenny was of the same opinion. ‘You’re right!’ he said. ‘I’ll ask her out, and if she says no, we’ll just go on as before, being friends.’ All the same, he would never lose hope that one day she might come to care for him, in the same way he cared for her.
‘That’s the spirit, lad. Tek the bull by the horns and see how it goes, eh?’ Old Joe smiled. ‘I recall when I were a soldier boy, fighting in Northern France, I had eyes for only one lass. She were more interested in me mate Wally, but I persevered, and I got her in the end. Brought her back home to Blackburn, I did. We never had a quiet marriage, mind. Oh dear me, no! It were up one minute, down the next, and there were many times when I wished I’d never got me self into it. But I did, ’cause I loved her, d’you see? An’ for all her faults, I never stopped loving my Marie.’
He knew what a keen fisherman Lenny was. ‘Going after a girl is a bit like being an angler,’ he went on. ‘You throw out a line, hoping the fish will bite, and you might land it safely. Another time you could throw out umpteen lines and still go away empty-handed.’
He tapped the end of his nose and winked. ‘The thing is, if you don’t throw out a line at all, you’ve no chance in hell of catching a fish – ain’t that right?’
Lenny was fired with the idea. ‘You’re right! I might even take Judy to show her my new shop.’
‘That’s the fighting spirit!’ The old man was thrilled. ‘You do that, son!’
When the conversation was over and it was time to go, Joseph walked Lenny to the door. ‘The next time you come and see me, happen it’ll be arm-in-arm with our Judy, eh?’
With Lenny gone, Joseph walked back to the kitchen, where he set about washing up the empty mugs. ‘Be gentle with his feelings, Judy, me darling.’ He’d got into a habit of muttering to himself. ‘You could do worse than link up wi’ that young man.’
He almost leaped out of his skin when the knock came on the door, and as he ambled along the passageway, the knocking grew more urgent. ‘All right, all right, hold your hosses! Now then, where’s the panic?’
Flinging open the door he was shocked to his roots, for there stood Don, five years older and with a few strands of grey hair, but still the same well-built proud man he had always been. ‘Good God Almighty!’ Rooted to the floor, he stared at the man, unable to believe his eyes. ‘Don!’ Tears clogged his throat and he felt suddenly weakened, as though he’d been felled by some giant fist.
‘Well, Dad, are ye pleased to see me or not?’ Don smiled that familiar slow smile, his quiet voice belying the turmoil he felt at being back in this street, on the doorstep of this house, and there before him, his father-in-law, the man who had stood by him and Rita all those years. ‘How are ye, Joseph?’ The love in his voice was genuine.
When Joseph could hold back the tears no longer, Don took him by the shoulders. ‘I’m sorry it took so long for me to come home,’ he apologised. ‘Things got in the way and suddenly five years had gone by … but I’m home now, and I mean to stay.’
Joseph looked up and he felt an incredible calm in his heart; but oh, there were such bad things he had to tell Don – about Rita, and young Davie. And he was afraid that such terrible news would drive Don away again.
Suddenly the tears brimmed over again, and when Don assured him once more that everything would be all right, he composed himself. ‘You’d best come in,’ he said shakily. ‘We’ve much to talk about.’
Unaware of the awful news Joseph had to tell, Don stepped inside, closed the door and followed Joseph to the back parlour.
‘Are they home-Rita and young Davie?’ Hungry for news, Don went on, ‘Oh, but our Davie is a young man now, eh? Eighteen, and proud of it, I’ll be bound. And my lovely Rita – I have so much to say to her. I’m frightened, Dad. Frightened that she’s found someone else. Are they still with you, Joseph, or have they managed to find a place of their own?’ Don was gabbling with nerves now. How could he have left them for so long? Panic crept into his heart. It was as well he couldn’t see the old man’s face, because the tragedy of what had happened was written all over it.
As they came into the parlour, Joseph gestured to the arm chair. ‘You’d best sit down,’ he said sadly. ‘I’ve news to tell yer.’ Suddenly he was back there, on the day they came to tell him, in this very room, that his Rita was gone, and that his grandson had run off. ‘I’m sorry, Don …’ How could he say it? May be the best way was just to say it, and pray that his son-in-law could live with what he must hear. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’
With a pale-faced Don now seated, he eased himself into the chair opposite. ‘That night, when you went away …’ He cleared his throat. How could he go on? How could he burden this man with the truth? But he had no choice. The story must be told – and quickly.
‘What is it, Joseph?’ The man had a deep sense of foreboding. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’
Joseph took a deep breath, and then he launched into the telling of it.
He told his son-in-law how, the night he left, Rita and Davie followed soon after. ‘I lost my faith with her,’ he said guiltily. ‘She seemed more like the devil than the child I had raised. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. I’d had enough, Don. I knew then, that she would never change, and I couldn’t take any more, so I asked her to leave this house.’
The shame of it would live with him forever. ‘God forgive me, but I threw my own daughter out on the streets. She must have been hurt, poor lass, bleeding inside, mebbe, from her fall down the stairs, but she never said a word. Too damn obstinate as usual. I wanted to keep the lad here,’ he explained, ‘but young Davie felt responsible for his mammy, and when she went, he went with her. At the last minute I changed my mind and ran after them, but it was too late. They’d gone.’
When he paused, afraid of the next thing he had to tell his son-in-law, Don’s soft voice rippled through his senses. ‘Where are they?’ he asked tremulously. ‘My wife and son … where are they now?’
Joseph gulped, glanced up and, looking straight into Don’s tormented face, he told him the whole story. He described how, for a time after they’d left, he’d sat in this very chair, hoping and praying they might come back, and everything would be all right. And then, some long time later, how there had come a knock on the door, and it was the police. ‘Come to tell me a bad thing, Don. Oh, dear God, this will break your heart.’
When his voice quavered, Don urged him on. ‘What, Joseph! Was there a fight? Did Rita cause trouble and they put her in jail – is that it? JOSEPH! You have to tell me!’
Hesitantly, the old man went on, ‘You remember that night: how can you ever forget it? Rita was out of her mind with booze. She and the boy were headed for friends of hers, or so she said.’
‘Go on, I’m listening.’ Though with every word the old man spoke, Don’s heart grew heavier.
Joseph described the events as he knew them. He told how Davie had got his mammy as far as the so-called friend’s house, where they had been turned away, then how they’d tried to make for the church. Almost carrying her by then, Davie had reached the shelter of the woods with his mam, who was becoming very ill and weak. It was here that she had collapsed. He told how Tom Make peace was out on his early milk-round, when he heard Davie calling for help on the edge of the woods. ‘When he got to Rita, she was hurt bad.’
Taking a deep breath, Joseph finished, ‘Tom lifted her onto the wagon, meaning to drive her to the Infirmary. But they never got there because … she died … Oh, Don, I’m so sorry. Rita’s gone … she’s gone.’ There! It was told, and now he couldn’t speak for it was all too real.
For one shocking moment, the house was heavy with silence, all but for the old man’s quiet sobbing.
Don was looking up at him, his eyes wide and shocked. Numbed by the weight of what he had just learned, he could only be still, as though he too had died somewhere inside.
Don knew, as well as Joseph, that they had both played a significant part in that night’s terrible events. The combination of drink, temper, betrayal and blame had ended in a tragedy so profound, that both men would be marked by it for ever more.
Joseph knew how hard the news must have been for Don, and there was nothing he could do to ease it. So he stood up, and leaving the younger man to come to terms with it, he said helplessly, ‘I’ll get us a drink, son. I’m so sorry. I would give anything not to have to have told you that.’
As he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder. Don was just sitting there, staring into the fireplace and shaking his head, making small, unintelligible noises.
In the kitchen, Joseph quickly made a strong brew, and taking it back to his son-in-law, he was not surprised to see him, head bent, quietly sobbing and calling his wife’s name.
On soft footsteps he went across the room, placed the cup of tea in the hearth and, sliding his arm round Don’s shoulders, he consoled him, needing to give him strength, and yet knowing how futile it was, for news of that kind can break a man.
Moments passed before Don raised his head, and with both hands wiped his face. ‘Where is she, Joseph? I need to see her.’
Joseph understood. ‘First, just take a minute or two,’ he suggested kindly. ‘Drink this.’ He handed him the mug of hot tea. ‘I’ll get myself ready, and I’ll take you to her.’ With every passing minute he waited in dread for the inevitable question, and when it came he was not prepared.
‘Where’s Davie?’ Replacing the mug of tea in the hearth, Don waited for an answer.
Without a word, Joseph sat himself in the chair, his face grey with pain as he imparted the news to the younger man. ‘Davie’s gone. He ran away.’ Before Don could speak, he went on hurriedly, ‘Tom said he took it real bad. Y’see, Davie’s mammy died in his arms. Afterwards, he just leaped off the wagon and ran into the woods. The police were out after him and everything, but he was never found, and he’s not been in contact since, apart from a letter he wrote before he went away. I’ve kept it, Don. Happen it’ll give you some peace of mind. He came to his mammy’s funeral too, but that was the last we saw of him.’
The old chap ran a hand over his eyes. ‘There have been times when I’ve driven myself crazy worrying about him, but summat tells me he’s all right, and I have to believe that.’ His voice broke. ‘I have to believe it!’
Don was already up on his feet. ‘Five years!’ Beginning to pace the floor, he swung round, his eyes wild with grief. ‘My God! He’s been gone these five long years, and you say you’ve not heard from him in all that time?’
Joseph felt the guilt of it all. ‘Not a word. I blame myself. If I hadn’t asked his mammy to leave my house, the lad would still be here … and happen she would, an’ all.’ That thought would haunt him for ever.
Pacing the floor, Don tried to think as Davie would. ‘Why in God’s name would he run off? He must have been devastated! I can’t understand why he didn’t come home! With his mammy gone, he needed you more than ever.’ He growled, ‘He needed me too, and I wasn’t there for him! Why didn’t he contact me?’
Joseph tried to pacify him, like he had tried to pacify himself all this time, but it was not easy. ‘Davie’s a strong, capable lad, with a mind of his own. He’s eighteen now, making a new life for himself somewhere. He’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. Aw, look, don’t fret yerself. You know your own son; you know how proud and independent he can be. Time and again I’ve asked myself why he’d rather run away than come home to me, his grandad. Happen it’s because he’s never forgiven me … and, it has to be said, happen he’s never forgiven you for leaving. But he will, Don. One day he’ll forgive and then he’ll be back, you mark my words.’
There was no consoling the younger man. ‘I should never have left. I just gave up and walked away, leaving my own wife and child. What was I thinking? Rita needed my help, not for me to desert her. Oh, my darling girl.’ He sobbed. ‘And my poor boy. I deserted him when he needed me the most.’ Believing that it was he who had shattered the family apart, Don was desolate.
‘What will you do?’
‘What can I do?’ Don’s initial reaction was to go after him – to leave now, this very minute – but common sense took over. ‘I’d go in search of him, but where would I start? You say the police never found him, and you’ve had no word of where he was headed – so if they couldn’t find him, what chance do I have?’ He threw out his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘God knows, I would scour the country inside and out, but there’s no guarantee that I’d ever meet up with him.’
Joseph agreed sadly. ‘No, son. There’s no guarantee that you’d find him, and if you did, would he thank you for it? No. Your boy will come home when he’s good and ready. And besides, you look done in. You’re not fit to traipse the country. You’ve come back to learn that your wife’s lying in the churchyard and your son’s run off. For now, that’s more than enough for any man to take in.’
Crossing the room, he clamped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Give yourself time,’ he pleaded. ‘You mustn’t drive yourself into the ground. Try and live with what you’ve learned, before you even think of taking off again.’
Don was torn. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he murmured. ‘Wherever Davie is, he might need me. And I need him, Joseph … like never before.’
‘So you mean to go in search of him, do you?’
Don shrugged. ‘I think I owe him that much, at least.’
‘Look, son, think about it. Don’t rush into anything. Stay here and take it easy for a time. Will you do that … for me?’
Something in the timbre of the old man’s voice made Don realise what agonies his father-in-law must have gone through. Now, when he looked up, he felt the raw pain in the other man’s eyes and the guilt was tenfold. ‘All right,’ he said tenderly. ‘I’ll do what you said. It makes sense, and I promise I’ll think about it. All right?’
Joseph’s eyes were bright with tears. ‘Thank you, son. It will be so good to have you near.’ On impulse, he threw his arms round Don’s neck. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘Never a day or a minute has gone by, when I haven’t missed all of you … so desperately.’
A few minutes later, the two men left to walk the short distance to the churchyard.
When they got there, Joseph stayed back while Don went to his wife’s resting place. Here, he fell to his knees and stroked the name on the headstone, all the while softly talking. Throughout the half-hour he knelt there, he sobbed helplessly, grew angry at what she had done, and then he begged forgiveness for leaving them behind. Then, getting up, he paced about, not knowing which way to turn or what to do for the best, and finally, he made his peace with her.
Stronger of heart, he returned to where Joseph was waiting. ‘I’m ready to go home now, Dad,’ he said quietly, and that’s what they did.
In the evening, Don bathed and afterwards changed into some of his old clothes, which Joseph had kept. Later, the two men sat by the fire, talking and reminiscing.
Don confirmed his promise to Joseph. ‘I’ve been giving it more thought,’ he told him, ‘and you’re right. If I were to leave now, and spend the rest of my life searching for Davie, there would still be no guarantee that I would ever find him.’
He had plans, though. ‘I’ll go and have a word with the authorities and see what they have on their files. You never know, there might be a clue as to where he could be.’
Joseph was visibly relieved. ‘I’m glad you’re thinking that way, and not taking off again,’ he commented. ‘Matter o’ fact, if you were to go out looking for the lad, he might well make his way back, just as you have done, and then you won’t be here to welcome him home.’
‘So, I’ll stay awhile … if you’ll have me?’
Joseph put up his hands in horror. ‘We’ll have none of that!’ he assured him. ‘This is your home for as long as you want it – Davie’s too.’
‘I think you’re right when you say Davie will be back.’ Don had convinced himself of it. ‘I’ll get a job. I’ll work hard, and save all I can. I’ll give myself time to breathe, and if Davie still hasn’t come home, I’ll go after him. Meanwhile, I’ll build a new life for all of us. What d’you say to that?’
Joseph laughed out loud. ‘I say that’s bloody wonderful!’
At long last the awful loneliness was over, and with two of them praying for Davie’s return, who knew? Yes! With Don’s homecoming, the old man really felt as though he had turned the corner.
Sadly, Rita was gone. But Don was here, and now Joseph was convinced that Davie would not be far behind. ‘I reckon we should celebrate!’
With that he scurried off to the corner shop, in search of ‘summat to warm the cockles’!