between them.
‘It doesn’t really matter,’ Tom intervened. ‘Stop bullying the boy, Ruth!’ He knew she was the one who was lying; he could see it in her face.
‘So, I’m “bullying” him, am I?’ Slamming down her knife and fork, she glared at Tom. ‘He’s calling me a liar, and you’re doing sod-all about it! That boy is turning out to be a bad ’un, but you just can’t see it, can you?’
‘Honestly, Daddy, I’m telling you the truth,’ Casey sobbed. ‘I would never play your guitar without asking. I went to the bedroom and asked if I could clean the guitar. But Mam got angry, and told me to go away.’ Something else came into his mind. ‘She didn’t want me outside her bedroom door. She said I could sell your guitar to old Foggarty …’ He paused, remembering. ‘She told me to go away … that she was busy …’ He began to falter. ‘I heard something else, I mean … I think I heard.’
A hostile glance from Ruth was enough to put him on his guard, but then fear became anger. ‘It’s Mam who’s telling lies. Not me!’
Believing enough had been said, Tom soothed the boy. ‘That’s enough, Casey. Eat your tea now. It doesn’t matter if you did play the guitar without asking, because I would have said yes anyway. But, if you like, we can talk about this later, eh?’ He gave a little smile. ‘All right, son?’
The boy gave a nod. His mam did things that worried him. There had been other times when he’d thought she had someone in her bedroom. He wondered if he should tell the whole truth: how this very afternoon, he thought he’d heard her talking to someone there. And what about the man she said she’d sent away?
Casey suspected she had not sent the man away at all, yet he fretted about telling, because he didn’t want to cause another argument. His troubled young heart urged him to confide in his daddy about men sneaking in and out of the house, and voices whispering in her bedroom. One time there was money lying on her bed after she’d had a visitor. That made him curious. It puzzled him, but he never said anything about it.
Casey knew his mother was doing bad things, and his every instinct told him to speak out. But common sense and a deep-down dread warned him not to reveal what he had seen and heard.
Across the table, Tom wondered how much Casey really did know. It was painfully obvious that Ruth intended to cover her own guilt by throwing the blame onto her son. It was a shocking, shameful thing for any mother to do.
With a heavy heart, Tom found it all too easy to fit the pieces together in his mind. He had suspected for some time that Ruth was cheating on him, but like a fool he had let it drift; choosing instead to put it down to his imagination. Now, though, on this night of all nights, he had no choice but to face the truth: that his wife was not only cheating on him, but she was a barefaced liar and a bully into the bargain.
Tom realised, though, that he had to be careful not to make a wrong move. These past few days he had been forced to think things through. For reasons of her own, Ruth was a hard-hearted, vengeful woman, who would make the boy’s life a misery if it suited her purpose. Above all else, Tom was determined his son’s future safety must be ensured.
Again, he wondered about the man he saw fleeing from the ginnel. Now he had little doubt but that the man was Len Baker, his long-time workmate. Angry and disgusted, he imagined Len and Ruth together, and his stomach churned.
He felt ashamed, and dirty. He wanted to shake her, to make her tell him the truth, but with Casey already distressed he kept his silence. Later, though, he meant to root out the truth, and deal with the consequences.
Having decided on the road he must take, he felt stronger and calmer.
The meal continued in an uncomfortable atmosphere.
Having wolfed down her food, Ruth angrily pushed her chair back. ‘Look at the wasted food!’ she raged at the boy for his meagre appetite. ‘All that money down the drain! You’re a useless brat … causing rows and making up stories. You need a bloody good hiding, that’s what you need!’ She caught him by the hair.
‘Leave him!’ Tom’s sharp warning sent her muttering and swearing into the scullery with her crockery.
Casey remained silent. He had seen his mother in a bad temper before, but this time she was like a mad thing.
‘You’ve eaten next to nothing,’ Tom told his son. He gestured to the food on Casey’s plate. ‘Try to eat a bit more, if you can, son. And don’t worry, whatever’s going on here, your mam and I will deal with it.’ Standing up, he too pushed his chair back.
‘Where are you going, Daddy?’ Casey was anxious.
‘I’ll only be a minute. When I get back, I want to see less on your plate than there is now. OK?’
‘You’re not going away, are you? You won’t leave me, will you?’ Casey glanced nervously towards the scullery. What if Mam came back to beat him, and Daddy wasn’t there to stop her?
Tom tried to reassure the boy. ‘Do as I ask, will you, son? Try and eat up your food, and I’ll be back soon enough.’
He turned away to leave the room, and went slowly upstairs.
Pushing open the bedroom door, he stood for a moment, his gaze falling on the bed. The eiderdown was ruffled and untidy, as though the bed had been made in a hurry.
When he drew the eiderdown back, Tom was not surprised to see the undersheet was heavily crumpled, with both pillows in complete disarray.
The unmade bed was all the more suspicious because, while Ruth was not a good housewife, she was very particular about keeping a neat, attractive bed.
Then Tom noticed a small object peeping out from beneath the edge of the eiderdown. Curious, he stooped down and, taking hold of a small, black leather strap, he withdrew a set of keys: one a brass door key; the other, smaller and silver.
Turning the keys over in the palm of his hand, he realised he’d seen them before. It took him a moment or two to remember. Yes, of course! It had been just a few days ago.
Tom thought back. He and his fellow workers were on their tea break, and he had seen these very keys lying on top of a packing case. He had actually moved the keys aside so he could sit down.
He recalled then how Len had come back looking for them. There was no mistaking them: these were definitely Len’s keys. It was him all right … it was Len! In his mind’s eye Tom could see Len running from the ginnel, and his heart sank.
So! Ruth had been cheating on him yet again, this time in their own home. In their own bed.
Even worse, their son had been right there, outside the bedroom door, while she and her fancy-man were … Sickened, he shut out the images. He daren’t even bring himself to think that Casey could have found them lying together.
Just as he was thinking of Casey, he heard his son cry out, ‘Please, Mam, don’t! You’re hurting me …’
‘Casey!’ With the keys in his hand, Tom ran down the stairs and along the passageway to the back parlour.
Casey was cowering at the table, while, standing over him, Ruth was battering him with such force it seemed she meant to kill him.
With both
