CASEY 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.
He could hear Granddad Bob at the door. He was talking to the officers, and then they were inside, going down the passage. Peeping over the banister, Casey could see them: Granddad Bob had his head bent, and was going ever so slowly towards the back parlour, with the two police officers following behind. It seemed to Casey that they were moving too slowly, too quietly, and the silence was almost deafening.
The feeling of dread that Casey had experienced earlier was much stronger now; like a hard, choking lump in his throat.
Softly, nervously, he crept down the stairs and sat on the last but one step. From here, he could listen without being seen. He was angry. She had done this. She wanted his dad to be put away, but Casey was adamant he wouldn’t let them do that. When he told them the truth, they would understand. His mam was a liar and a bully.
In the back parlour, Tom’s father fell heavily into his old armchair, his ashen face stained with tears and his heart heavier than any man could bear.
For what seemed an age, he did not utter one word, nor did he look at the two men. Instead, keeping his face down, he reached out and taking Tom’s open letter from the side table, he held it up to them.
The senior officer took the letter and read it, then handed it to his colleague. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton.’ Sympathy was all he could offer. ‘I’m very sorry.’
The officer went on, ‘From the papers your son had in his pocket, we discovered his home address. We went round there first, but there was no one in. The neighbour said there’d been a row of sorts, and soon after your son left, his wife took off and hasn’t been seen since.’
Straining to listen, but unable to hear clearly what was being said, Casey shifted down to the next step. Peering carefully round the corner, he saw Granddad Bob in the chair, looking older and sadder than he had ever seen him before. The two stern-faced officers were standing over him.
Casey wanted to go to find out why Granddad Bob was crying, but he was too afraid. Something was very wrong. If his mam really had sent them to take his dad away, they would be asking where he was, and Granddad would show them the door. But it wasn’t like that, and Casey’s fear was heightened.
What did they want? Why were they here?
Casey quickly pulled back when the officer addressed the old man.
‘When did you know about this letter?’
‘I found it this morning, when I woke up.’ There was a muffled sob while Granddad Bob discreetly wiped his eyes. ‘It was propped up on my bedside cabinet.’
‘And before you found this letter, did you have any idea of what he meant to do?’
The old man shook his head.
‘And you had no idea of what he’s explained in the letter … the obvious cause of his distress?’
He was greeted with silence.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton, but I have to ask these questions. I know this is painful for you, but even though we now have the letter, I am obliged to verify the reason for us being here and, like I say, I know how difficult this must be for you.’ His voice was warm, his manner caring. ‘You did understand what I was saying to you at the door?’
The old man looked up, his voice breaking as he said softly, ‘I know what you told me, and I have the letter. But … I can’t seem to get it into my head.’ His face was haggard. ‘I can’t make myself believe …?’ Racked with grief, he lowered his head and sobbed; unable to discuss it any more.
Leaning forward on the step, Casey was aching to go to his granddad, but when he saw the younger officer glance his way, he dodged back, his instinct to remain hidden.
Deeply moved by the old man’s distress, the officer stooped to his level. ‘It’s all right, old fella.’ He laid his hand over Bob’s trembling fist. ‘I’m sorry … I truly am, but you do need to hear what I’m telling you, because sadly, I’m afraid it is true, although as I’m sure you understand, there are other steps to be taken before we know for certain.’ He was careful not to go into detail of how they had discovered the pitiful remains of a young man, together with proof of his identity.
He explained in reverent tone, ‘Mrs Dolly Pritchard gave us enough of a description to tie it all together as best we could under the circumstances.’ He went quickly on, ‘Also, we recovered the remains of two documents, which we’ve already shown you, and which you’ve identified as belonging to your son.’
Leaving Casey’s granddad to reflect on that, the officer lifted his gaze to the photograph on the sideboard. It tied in with the smaller, damaged photo they’d discovered on the tracks earlier that morning.
‘That’s your son, isn’t it, Mr Denton?’
The old man looked up, his eyes raw from the crying, ‘Yes, that’s Tom,’ he confirmed. ‘And there’s his own darling son alongside.’ He pointed a shaking finger at the figure of Casey.
His thoughts were now for the little boy. Dear God above, how would he tell him that his father had thrown himself under a train and was killed instantly?
How would the child cope when, even to his own weathered old mind, it beggared belief that Tom would do such a wicked thing? But then, who was he to know how a man’s mind might work, when faced with the agonising decision that had haunted Tom?
Still reluctant to believe it, he asked the officer for the second time, ‘Tell me again … what happened?’
‘Like I explained, we investigated a call some hours ago. A woman living nearby was out looking for her little dog, and she stopped to talk with the young man, who we now believe to be your son. As she walked away, some instinct made her turn back, and she actually saw him slide from the bridge wall. She then ran to a neighbour’s house, and he raised the alarm. We responded swiftly, but it was already too late. There was absolutely nothing anyone could do. I’m so sorry.’
Crouched down out of sight on the step, Casey was confused. Sometimes when the officer spoke quietly he could hardly hear what was being said, but he could hear his granddad’s quiet sobbing, and it tore through him like a rush of cold wind.
‘This woman …’ His granddad’s trembling voice was so low, Casey dared to lean forward in order to hear him, ‘… who is this woman? What exactly did she tell you?’
Now the younger officer stepped forward, while the first one was grateful for the chance to take a deep breath and compose himself, for although they were used to such visits, this particular duty was especially harrowing. ‘As my colleague said, her name is Dolly Pritchard. She’s a widow, and she lives opposite the railway bridge at Mill Hill …’
While he explained the event in a sensitive, careful manner, Casey sat bolt upright on the stairs, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of it all.
His mind was flooded with all manner of questions. That officer said some woman called Dolly had stopped to ask his dad about a dog, and now the police were here, and Granddad Bob was crying. What was all this about? When did it happen, and why was his dad on the railway bridge at Mill Hill? And, where was his dad now?
‘Where did you say he was when she stopped to ask him about the dog?’ The old man was trying hard to piece it all together, but it was difficult. His reasoning was all over the place and it was all too much. Way too much! He didn’t want to listen, but he knew he had to. ‘My son … where was he when he spoke to the woman? Where was he … exactly?’
‘Like I said before,’ the officer was more than willing to explain again in view of the old man’s distress and confusion, ‘the young man we believe to be your son was standing on the railway bridge at Mill Hill.’
For a minute, Bob remained silent, appearing not to have heard, and then, as the information settled in his mind, the fragments came together and formed a heartbreaking picture. ‘The railway bridge at Mill Hill you say? Oh, dear God, no!’
In his mind, the old man drifted back to the days when he would take Tom to watch the trains going under Mill Hill bridge. Anne would pack them a bag of sandwiches and a flask, and they would camp out on the bridge, waiting for each train as it came flying in. They would laugh when the steam rose and momentarily shrouded them, and later they would take the long walk home to Addison Street, talking through their happy time when trainspotting.
Bob smiled through his tears. ‘Mill Hill were allus a special place to me and my boy.’
Suddenly it was like he could not hold in the pain any longer, and his cries were heart-rending. ‘All them years I took him to that bridge. It were ours … our own special place, and now I don’t know what to think.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘Why in God’s name would he do such a terrible thing?’ He began to rock back and forth.
Moved by the old man’s pain, the older officer leaned close and in a gentle voice he told him, ‘Maybe it was the only place he could go, because in his mind he imagined he would be with you. Maybe that bridge and the train were the last things he needed to see, because that was where he spent some of the happiest times of his life.’
Leaning into the chair Bob gave a whimsical little smile.‘Aye … mebbe.’ He hoped that was what Tom had thought: that he would leave this world with a picture of himself and his father in that very spot. They were good memories, and maybe that truly was the reason why Tom had chosen that place. The thought offered him small comfort, though at the same time, he felt angry and sad. And, oh, so very lonely. And yet, he had young Casey, Tom’s son, his own dear grandson.
‘This woman, Mrs Pritchard, what exactly did she see?’
The officer answered in a quiet voice, ‘Only that he was leaning on the wall, and when she turned round, he appeared to have climbed up onto the wall, and then he just … well, she wasn’t sure whether it was done on purpose, or whether he fell accidentally.’ He pointed to the letter. ‘As to that, I believe your son’s letter appears to answer that question.’
Listening on the stairs, Casey understood his dad had been sitting on the wall on the railway bridge at Mill Hill, and that something might, or might not have happened.
But what was that to do with his dad, and what was the letter they kept talking about? Granddad was crying, but why? And where was his dad?
Suddenly he could bear it no longer. Bursting into the room, he demanded to know, ‘Where’s my dad? What’s happened to him? I WANT MY DAD!’ When the tears flooded his eyes, Granddad was on his feet, holding out his arms to take him.
‘Oh, lad! Were you listening? Tell me what you heard.’
But Casey was adamant. ‘Where’s my dad? I want my dad!’
The old man moved towards him, his arms open wide and his voice trembling. ‘Oh, lad let me take you back upstairs. Then we’ll talk, you and me.’
Backing away, Casey would not be quietened. ‘I want my dad!’ He confronted the police officers. ‘What ’ave you done with my dad? Where is he? What’s happened to him?’
When the younger officer made towards him, Casey ran along the passage and out the door, yelling as he went, ‘Leave me alone! I’m going to find my dad, and you can’t stop me!’
Bob was frantic. ‘He heard us talking. I tell you, he knows! Find him.’ Impatient, he began yelling, ‘GO ON, GET AFTER HIM. HE’LL BE HEADED FOR MILL HILL!’
The officers hurried out to the car, the old man following. Glancing down the street he saw Casey, running as if the devil were on his heels. ‘Casey, come back, lad!’ Bob called, but Casey had to find his dad, and he was in no mood for listening. A few more steps and he was away round the corner, headed for the backstreets, and Mill Hill beyond.
‘I’m coming with you.’ Following the officers, Bob was determined. ‘The boy’s distraught. Who knows what he overheard?’
‘No!’ The officer was adamant. ‘Leave it to us. You need to stay here in case he comes back.’
‘If I stay here, do you promise you’ll find him, and fetch him back to me?’ Already emotionally and physically exhausted, and now desperately afraid for his grandson, he knew the officer was right. What if Casey came back and there was no one here? Seeing the state he was in, that would be unforgivable.
‘All right, I’ll stay and wait to see if he comes back. But you get off to Mill Hill as quick as you can. Search him out. Look everywhere. The thing is, I don’t know how much he heard.’ He waved them away. ‘Don’t come back without him!’
His shoulders hunched with the weight of sorrow, Bob shuffled inside the house. Tom loomed large in his mind. How he wished to God his son had confided in him. Even then, he could not have changed the harsh fact that Tom had a sorry future ahead of him.
Deliberately leaving the front door slightly ajar, Bob returned to the parlour, where he fell into his chair and picked up the letter. He read it for the umpteenth time, a few words leaping out of the page at him: ‘… My future is bleak … The disability is bound to render me entirely dependent on loved ones …’
‘Aw, lad!’ Shaking his head in despair, he laid the letter down. Leaning back into the chair he reflected on the morning’s shocking events. Yesterday he was thrilled to have his son and grandson here with him, and now his whole world had fallen apart.
He looked towards the mantelpiece at the snapshot of his wife in her younger days: a handsome, dark-haired woman with sparkling eyes and winning smile. ‘God help us, Anne, lass,’ he whispered. ‘Look what’s happened to us now.’ He rubbed his head with the palms of his hands, while still confiding in his beloved late wife. ‘Did he think we wouldn’t take care of him, eh? Does he not know that I would’ve given my own life to save his?’
He tried so hard to put himself in Tom’s shoes, and in a strange way, he understood. Just enough, maybe, to forgive.
Overwhelmed and feeling helpless, he sat there, quiet and reflective. Inevitably the tears came again, and this time they would not stop. ‘Look after our boy, Lord, wherever he is,’ he prayed. ‘And please, bring that little lad home, safe and well. Me and Casey need each other now. More than ever.’
For a long time he remained in the chair, trying to come to terms with the news that Tom had most probably taken his own life.
Aw, lad, why did you suffer it all on yer own? he thought. Why couldn’t you share yer troubles with yer old father, eh? Surely to God, between the two of us, we might ’a’ found some other way.
Over and over, he ran the officers’ words through his mind. It was so very hard to take in the stark truth.
Outside, while the police car took the main route to Mill Hill, Casey made for the backstreets. Unknowingly following the same route his father had taken before him, he ran fast and furious, winding through the cobbled ginnels and onto King Street, then through the alleyways and ginnels, towards the railway bridge.
After passing the pub, he wended his way through the shortcut he and his father took when they came here with Granddad.
Every few minutes he looked about, keeping a wary eye open for any police car. In his young mind, going to the railway bridge was the only way to find out what had happened.
Even then, he was afraid to know, yet more afraid not to.
As though for his very life he ran on, his chest hurting with every breath he took and his heart fit to burst. His legs ached, the sweat ran down his face and his shirt stuck to his back.
In Mary-Anne Street, he was forced to pause and catch his breath, but he daren’t stop for more than a minute in case the police caught up with him.
‘Are you all right, son?’ a man walking by asked with concern.
‘Yes … thank you.’
Casey ran on with determination, his feet hardly touching the ground. Being sure to keep well away from the main thoroughfares, he dodged under hedges and leaped over walls. They said his dad was on the bridge. What was he doing on the bridge, and why had he gone there alone? He must be in trouble, he thought! His dad would explain, but first, he must find him.
That bright, burning thought drove him on.
When he swung past the familiar row of trees, he knew he was not far from the railway bridge. But what if Dad wasn’t there? And still he wondered, what had happened at the bridge, because it seemed to him that something had happened. Something frightening.
His young mind was constantly troubled with questions. Why was the bed neatly made up this morning, as though no one had slept in it? Had his dad simply left it tidy when he woke up? Or had he not slept in it at all, and if that was the case, why not?
Maybe Dad had stayed downstairs with Granddad Bob last night. Maybe they were talking and planning, about what to do now Mam and Dad had parted company. Maybe Dad might have changed his mind about living with Granddad for ever.
Now, the doubts began to set in, until Casey wasn’t sure what he expected to find at the bridge. He reminded himself of what he had overheard when the policemen were talking to his granddad. They mentioned his dad and the bridge, and Granddad was shocked and upset. And there was a woman … a widow by the name of Dolly something.
With every step his fears were heightened.
All he could think of was finding his dad. Then everything would be all right, because it always was.
Soon he was running up the street to the bridge; then he was at the foot of the bridge. He paused, making sure the police were not already there, waiting to pounce on him.
Going cautiously forward, he was curious to see a straggled line of people leaning over the wall; they appeared to be interested in what was going on below. Now Casey saw that nearby was a police car, and a long, thick rope cordoning off the area. Two helmeted police officers patrolled the scene.
Casey approached a man in the crowd. ‘What’s going on, mister?’
‘You don’t want to know, lad.’ Having children of his own, the man was concerned by Casey’s appearance. His face was red and stained with sweat, and his breath was laboured, as though he’d been running hard. ‘You’d best clear off away from ’ere!’
‘Leave him alone, Dave!’ His wife stooped to speak with Casey. ‘He’s right, though. Does your mother know where you are? Don’t you know something bad happened here? They’re saying a man went off the bridge last night … that he was killed by a train … It doesn’t bear thinking about. So you’d best get off, lad. Get off home, where you belong …’
Just then a police car came screeching to a halt at the kerbside, and a young officer came running towards them.
‘Stay there, son!’ Making a beeline for the boy, the officer called out, ‘We’re not here to hurt you. Your granddad wants you home, that’s all.’
Cautiously narrowing the distance between himself and the boy, he pleaded, ‘I’m sorry, son, but we need to get you back home, where you belong. Come on now … your granddad needs you.’
‘No!’ Casey backed away. ‘I’m not going home till I find my dad!’ What the woman had just told him was burning in his mind. ‘Tell me what happened to my dad.’ Growing hysterical, he demanded. ‘Was it him who got killed by a train? Was it? TELL ME THE TRUTH!’
On seeing the looks exchanged between the two officers, he suspected the truth, and it was more than he could deal with. Backing off, he began sobbing, ‘No, it’s not true! It wasn’t my dad. It couldn’t have been. Do you hear me … it wasn’t him!’ Distraught, he edged away. ‘You’re lying … all of you … LIARS!’
When the young officer came forward to calm him, Casey took to his heels and fled. Deep down, he knew his father was gone, yet he could not let himself believe it.
Instead, he clung to the fantasy that they’d made a mistake, that his father was somewhere else, safe and well. Yes, that was it! His dad was not the man killed by that train. He couldn’t be.
Some small instinct in the back of his mind forced him to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, his dad really was the man that had … that was …? Angry with himself for even entertaining the idea, he pushed it away.
He had to run, yet he didn’t want to leave, because this was the place they’d told Granddad about. He didn’t know how, but somehow, he would find his dad, and everything would be all right. Just now, he couldn’t think straight.
‘Come on, lad,’ the older officer addressed him softly, ‘you need to go home now. You need to be with your granddad …’
When the officer was almost close enough to touch him, Casey took off again. ‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted as he ran. ‘I’m not going back till I find my dad!’ He was concerned about his granddad, though. He had seen him sobbing, but while his granddad played on his mind, his dad was paramount in his thoughts. He could not let himself believe the worst. He would find his dad, he would. His mind was in chaos.
Casey was soon out of sight of the policemen.
‘The little sod!’ Scrambling into the car, the two officers were concerned for the lad. ‘I expect he’ll make his way back to his granddad,’ the older police officer was convinced, ‘but we need to be sure he gets there safely.’ Starting the engine, he slammed the car into gear and surged forward. ‘We can’t have the kid running loose all over the place.’
‘Do you really think he heard … back at the house?’ The young officer was worried. ‘It would be a shocking thing if he overheard us saying how his father appeared to have taken his own life.’
‘It would, yes.’ Taking the bend at speed, the older man shook his head. ‘Look! I don’t know what the boy heard. Maybe he really did overhear something, and it got him guessing. And just now, there was a woman talking to him. When all’s said and done, happen the boy knows enough to put two and two together.’ The older policeman felt bad about the boy. ‘I reckon he’ll be on his way back to his granddad. When we get to the house, we should ask the old fella to tell him. It’s better for the lad to know the truth.’
Keeping a safe distance from the tracks, and greatly relieved that no one could see him, Casey remained very still.
From his hiding place in a crevice beneath the bridge, he could see the big police vans arrive, and soon after that the people retreated.
The officers kept them moving, and once the onlookers had gone, the cordons were taken down and packed into the waiting vans. Eventually the vans were gone; then the police cars and the body of officers followed, while two of them stayed behind to check round and be sure that everything was as it should be. Soon, they too were leaving, and the bridge was emptied. After the noise and bustle, it now seemed eerily silent.
Carefully climbing up to the bridge, Casey felt as though he was the only person in the whole wide world. Because of the barriers, the traffic had been diverted earlier, and as yet had not found its way back along this route. There was not a train or a person in sight, while down the street, a solitary dog relieved itself against a lamppost.
Spreading his two arms over the bridge wall, Casey looked to the rails below. He recalled the many wonderful times he and his dad, along with his granddad, had leaned over in this very spot to watch the trains go by.
Somewhere in the darkness of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever again do that, all three of them together. But he knew the truth, and a great, overwhelming sadness took hold of him.
He felt the cold stone under his fingertips, and he imagined his father being where he was right now, arms stretched and his fingertips holding onto the rim of the wall, so that he could pull himself upwards.
Since hearing the police officers talking with his granddad, and seeing that dear old man distraught, Casey had drawn an invisible shield over his mind in a desperate bid to keep out the terrifying truth.
Now, though, as he lay across the wall, his head hanging over the track and his mind flooded with thoughts of his beloved father, it was as though the shield had slid away, and he could see the truth laid bare, terrifying and shocking. It emblazoned itself on his heart and mind, and tore him apart. His dad was never coming back. Not ever. In the whole of his life he would never see his dad again.
With his heart breaking, he slid to the ground, the sound of his sobbing echoed in the cool, quiet air. All he could think about was his father, and the idea of him going over the bridge wall. Distraught, he sat cross-legged on the cold ground, rocking back and forth, his heart like a lead weight inside his chest.
Suddenly, when a tabby cat was beside him gently rubbing its head against the boy’s face, it gave him a sense of comfort.
Raising his head, he looked straight into the cat’s dark eyes and then he slid his arm round the cat, and the cat snuggled up to him as though sensing his grief.
Then, as stealthily as he’d arrived, the cat was gone, and the boy was alone again.
Casey watched the cat stroll away, and when it was eventually out of sight, the sense of loneliness and desolation was unbearable here on this familiar bridge, with all its fond memories; here in this lonely place, without the people he loved.
In that dark moment he thought of his mother, and he hated her. Yet at the same time he loved and needed her. Then he despised himself for even thinking that she might care.
But he called for her all the same. ‘Mam!’ The tears fell fast. ‘Oh, Mam …’ Once again he dropped his head to his knees and wrapped his arms about his legs. He wasn’t really sure where his dad was, but just then, he so much wanted to be with him.
Across the street, Dolly was just waking.
She had mostly lain awake through the dark hours, snatching a wink or two here and a half-hour there. Twice she had gone down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The night had been long and painful, and guilt plagued her mind. Eventually she fell into a troubled sleep, and now, waking with a start, she was horrified to hear the grandmother clock strike four times.
Half an hour later, having washed and dressed, she entered the kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. When the tea was brewed and her cup filled, she wrapped her two hands around it and carried it to the window, where she looked out.
Something on the bridge quickly caught her attention. Collecting her spectacles from the sideboard, she put them on and squinted towards the bridge once more, at what she imagined was a bundle of rags on the ground.
She leaned forward to get a better look. It was a child … a small child. Laying down her spectacles, she ran to the front passageway and collected her coat. Outside, she looked up and down the street, but could not see anyone who might belong to the child.
The memories of what had happened to that young man had badly shaken her. And now there was a child sitting on the cold ground beneath that very same spot where the young man had slid to his death.
She chattered to herself as she went out of the front door and across the street. She knew she would never forget what she had seen. ‘Why didn’t I realise what he meant to do?’ she tormented herself. Even now, she could see Tom’s quiet smile in her mind. She could hear his reassuring voice, yet still she blamed herself for not realising his intention. And what about his family? The thought of their sorrow made her feel all the more guilty.
Now, she was hurrying across the street, noticing how the bridge was already cordoned off. ‘Soon they’ll be out here in their droves, I dare say.’
Dolly realised that was inevitable, given the circumstances. Drawing closer to the bridge, she could see the child crouched down against the bridge wall. Close enough now, she realised the child was a boy, probably no older than seven or eight years of age. She looked about, wondering if the parents might be close, but there was no one else in sight.
She advanced quietly and carefully, afraid that when he saw her approaching, he might suddenly run away.
Casey was so lost in thoughts of his dad, he had not seen Dolly coming, but when he heard her call out to him, he was on his feet in an instant. Ready to run, he stood with his back to the wall.
‘Please, lady, I’m not doing anything wrong. Leave me alone.’ As Dolly drew nearer, he took stock of her, relieved to find that she was just an old woman.
‘I know you’re not doing anything wrong.’
Dolly stood still on the pavement, afraid he would take off if she took one more step. ‘It’s just that I heard you crying, and I noticed there was no one with you. I’m sorry, child, but I was worried. I only want to help you.’
She could see he was agitated, ready to flee at any moment. She needed to calm him. ‘It’s just that … well, it’s so cold out here, I thought you might like to come inside my house and warm yourself. I can make you a nice cup of hot cocoa, if you like? You needn’t worry, there’s no one else in the house … only me.’ Her smile was warm. ‘I promise, I truly don’t mean to harm you.’
To her bitter disappointment, she had never been blessed with children of her own, though over the years she had been an adopted auntie to the neighbours’ children. ‘Just so’s you know, my name is Dolly. What’s yours?’
Her name jogged Casey’s memory. ‘Dolly? Is that really your name … Dolly?’ He tried to remember what the policeman had said, and he uttered the first thing that came to mind: ‘Did you find my dad?’
Dolly was completely taken aback. Tearfully she came forward. ‘Oh, dearie me, you’re looking for your father, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Oh, child, what are we to do, eh?’
Raising the cuff of her sleeve she wiped away her tears. ‘Come with me, eh? Trust me. You can ask me anything you like …’ she opened her arms to him, ‘… please, child. Come home with me now, eh? I don’t mean you any harm. I only want to help you.’
Suddenly the boy was in her arms, sobbing, clinging to her, as all the pent-up emotions poured out, ‘Where is he … where’s my dad?’ He looked up at her, his eyes big and sad. ‘They won’t tell me what’s happened, and I can’t find him.’
Fighting back her own tears, Dolly held him tight. ‘First things first, m’darling,’ she coaxed. ‘Come on now. Let’s get you inside, in the warm. Then we’ll decide what to do … the two of us.’
Together they walked across the street, and into that cosy little home. Closing the door behind them, Dolly held his hand as they went down the passage and into the back parlour. ‘Here we are, bonny lad!’ She looked into that sorrowful little face and her old heart ached for what he must be going through.
Casey remained anxious. ‘Where’s my dad? I want my dad.’ Even while he asked the questions, he already knew. ‘Is it true what they said? Did my dad fall …?’ He choked on the words, not wanting to know the truth, yet desperate to be told.
Dolly’s heart went out to him. She didn’t really know how to tell him the truth, or even whether she should. To her mind, it was the responsibility of a close relative to break the awful news. So she answered his question with another instead. ‘What’s your name, child?’
‘Casey.’
‘Well, now, that’s a fine name, an’ no mistake.’ She kept her hold on him, loose yet definite, in case he decided to run. ‘D’you know what I think, Casey?’
Casey shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Well, first of all, I think I should make us both a cup o’ cocoa. Then we’ll sit down together, and you can ask me any questions you like. I don’t promise to know all the answers, but I’ll do my best. So, what d’you say to that?’
Needing to trust her, Casey gave a small, if reluctant nod.
‘Right then.’ Dolly was grateful. ‘That’s good. You sit in the chair by the fireside, and I’ll set about making us that cocoa.’
She watched him go over to the fireplace, where he hoisted himself into the big old armchair. Feeling easier now that she’d managed to persuade him this far, Dolly went into the scullery and put the kettle on.
‘Are you hungry?’ she called out to him. ‘I’ve got shortcake biscuits, or apple pie … all home-made.’ Still nervous that he might decide to make a dash for it, she kept a wary eye on him through the adjoining door.
Casey, though, was willing and even thankful to sit there for a while. He was cold, and hungry, and he needed to think. And anyway, she’d promised that he could ask her questions about his dad, and that she would do her best to answer them. He was starting to think that this kind lady would reassure him, and that the police had got it all wrong.
A few moments later, Dolly came through to the back parlour. ‘Here we are, Casey. I’ve brought both biscuits and a slice of my apple pie as well. It won’t matter if you leave it, because I’m sure it won’t go to waste. Billy next door is very partial to my home-made apple pie.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘Mind you, I’d much rather you had it, because that Billy’s put on too much weight of late. I keep telling him it’s bad for his heart. But will he listen?’
When she set the tray on the table, Casey saw the food and his stomach began quietly growling. The biscuits were thick and crumbly, and the apple pie was plump and dripping with juice. He couldn’t remember his mother ever baking anything like that.
Not for the first time, he thought of his mother. Then he recalled the frightful scene back at the house, and he shut her from his mind. All the same, he was sorry about what happened. In truth, he blamed himself.
‘Come and sit at the table, child.’ Dolly set him a place. ‘There you are.’ She watched as he climbed onto the chair. ‘You just help yourself, while I pop to the front room for a minute.’
‘You’re not going outside, are you?’ Nervous that she might not come back, Casey began to panic.
‘Oh, now don’t you worry, child. I’ve just remembered I forgot to open the curtains in the front room.’ She gave a nervous little chuckle. ‘Folks’ll begin to think I’m still abed, an’ we can’t have that, can we, eh?’
Still a little anxious, Casey shook his head.
Dolly breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You help yourself to the cakes and biscuits, and I’ll be back before you know it.’
When he now reached out for a biscuit, she sneaked quietly away. Once inside the front room, she softly closed the door, then quickly went to the sideboard where the big black telephone stood. It was Billy, her next-door neighbour, who had suggested that she get a telephone, ‘So you can call out if ever you need to,’ he told her.
She now picked up the big heavy receiver and placed the earpiece to her ear. With the tip of her finger, she began dialling the police number. She still hadn’t got used to using the telephone, and was somewhat nervous.
It rang for a moment before a very officious woman answered at the other end. ‘Blackburn Police Station. Can I help you?’
Holding the telephone slightly away from her face, Dolly told her, ‘This is Dolly Pritchard speaking. I live in Mill Hill, and I was the woman who saw that young man fall from Mill-Hill bridge. I have his son here. He’s run away, d’you see. The poor lad is looking for his father. I, er … I mean, I don’t like to tell him what’s happened, d’you see?’ she began to stutter.
‘Mrs Pritchard, you say you were the one who reported the man falling from the bridge at Mill Hill? … Thank you, I have your name. Please could you tell me your full address …?’
Ashamed and guilty for having called the police, Dolly slammed the receiver down. This was not the right way to help the boy.
When she returned to the back parlour, Casey was seated in the big old armchair, staring into the fire grate, but seeming not to be looking at anything in particular.
Dolly glanced at the table, where sadly not a thing had been touched; not even the cocoa she’d made to warm him up.
With an aching heart, she went to him and, placing her chubby hands about his face, she caused him to look up at her. ‘What are we going to do with you, eh, child?’ He looked so small and lost.
‘Please … will you tell me where my dad is?’
‘I don’t know where he is,’ she answered softly.
‘You saw him, though, didn’t you?’ When she gave no answer, he scrambled away from her, his voice loud and angry. ‘YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE OTHERS … YOU’RE LYING! I HEARD WHAT THE POLICEMAN TOLD MY GRANDDAD.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘You saw him, didn’t you?’
‘I saw a young man, yes that’s true. But I don’t know if he was your father. I don’t know what your father looked like. The young man on the bridge seemed very troubled. We spoke, and he urged me to go and look for my little dog. He’d run away, you see, and I needed to find him before he got lost. He does that sometimes, and he doesn’t like a lot of noise and fuss. Which is why Billy’s keeping him next door just now.’ Slightly panicking, she took a deep breath, ‘Your father worried me,’ she admitted.
‘Did my dad fall?’ Calmer now, Casey was desperate to know. ‘Did he get killed by the train?’
‘Like I said, I don’t even know if it was your dad at the time.’
With heavy heart, Dolly decided she had to get the boy back to his family. ‘Let me take you home, child. Your mother will be so worried.’
‘I haven’t got a mother!’ The words that came out of his mouth shocked him. He did have a mother, but if she didn’t want him, then he didn’t want her.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Dolly suspected he might be lying, but that was not her business. ‘But a while ago you said that you wanted your granddad.’
‘I do.’ Casey was still concerned about his granddad Bob.
‘Of course you do, and he’s bound to worry because he doesn’t know what’s happened to you, does he?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there you are then. Your granddad will be waiting for you, looking out the window and getting himself into a state. And besides, I’m sure he’ll be able to answer all your questions, because if the police have been to see him like you said, he’ll probably know a great deal more about what happened to your daddy, than I do. Please, Casey, let me take you to him.’
‘Tell me, was it my dad who got killed?’
‘I truly don’t know,’ Dolly answered. ‘All I know is there was a young man on the bridge. He told me he was waiting for a friend and that he would be going to the station to meet him. The next thing I know, I was chastising my little dog, then I heard the train. I turned round and I saw …’ when the image rose in her mind, she took a deep, calming breath, ‘… I saw the young man fall. I did not know he was your father, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’
Casey knew, though. He knew it in his heart and soul that his dad had been killed by that train. And now something was happening to him. He felt different from before. He wanted to cry but he found he couldn’t. He wasn’t even able to think any more. He felt confused and frightened.
When, unexpectedly, Dolly took him gently into her chubby arms, he held onto her. He felt safe somehow, although in that moment, nothing seemed to matter any more.
Inside him, there was a strange, sweeping coldness; as though he, too, had died.
When she felt him trembling, Dolly held him close for a while, softly talking to him, reassuring him.
Then he was looking at her, pleading, ‘Please! I want my granddad … I want him now, please.’
His childish plea pierced her old heart and, as she turned away, the tears threatened. But she would not let herself cry in front of the boy. Not when he was already being so very brave.
‘All right, child. We’ll get you home now, shall we?’
A short time later, they were ready to leave. ‘So, what’s your granddad’s name?’ Dolly had kept on talking, though the boy had lapsed into a deep silence.
Casey gave no answer. Instead, he waited patiently while she locked the front door. He wanted his dad. He needed to see him, and talk with him, and play the guitar. But his mother had broken the guitar, and his dad was gone. Why did he go? Why did he leave me?
So many questions, and no answers.
The police car was just pulling up outside, after a message had come through from the station.
When Dolly and Casey turned from the front door, they saw the police approaching.
‘Don’t worry, child,’ she said, holding onto Casey. ‘They’re here to help, that’s all. I expect your granddad sent them to find you.’
Casey was through running, and when the older officer stooped to talk with him, he offered no resistance.
‘It’s all right, lad, we’ve come to take you home. Your granddad’s waiting for you. He’s been worried.’
When the officer led him to the car, Casey glanced back at Dolly, looking forlorn in her hat and coat, and the key still poised in her hand. There were tears in her eyes.
‘I’m not going without Dolly!’ In the short time he’d spent with her, Casey had come to trust and love her.
‘Mrs Pritchard, do you want to come with us?’ The officers could see how these two had formed a bond of friendship.
Greatly relieved, Dolly returned his smile and nodded; then she looked at the boy’s childish face and smiled encouragement to him as she walked to the car, where the officer carefully helped her inside.
To the boy the older officer said, ‘You’ve a lot to thank this lady for, my lad. We were just about to send out the search team for you.’
He saw how the boy held out a hand to make sure Dolly was safely inside. He saw how the woman wrapped an arm about him the minute she was seated, and he was gratified to see how the boy leaned against her. And knowing what trauma the child must have suffered alone out there on the streets, the friendship between these two brought a swell of emotion to his throat.