had long promised himself that one of these fine days he would pack his bag, and walk out of his mother’s house for good. Deep down, though, he knew he could never abandon her. For good or bad, Mabel was his mother. Maybe her quick temper was his fault; maybe he wasn’t earning enough, or looking after her well. Maybe she was lonely and frightened, needing to vent her frustrations on the only person left in her life since her husband died two years ago. If he left, how would she manage? She had little money, and whenever anyone mentioned her going to work, she panicked, claiming she was too ill, that no one realised how hard it was for her to get through each day.
Jacob was the breadwinner, solely responsible for the bills and upkeep of their home. Each day his mother seemed to lean on him more, and slowly but surely, he had allowed it to happen.
Even now, when he found himself the butt of her vicious temper and spiteful ways, he could not find the heart to desert her. But if he ever did summon up the courage to leave her, where would he go?
As a schoolboy, he had been discouraged from making friends, and later when he’d started dating, his mother always managed to get rid of any girl he brought home.
Now, without real friends or interests, Jacob felt life was passing him by. He deeply regretted that, but life under his mother’s rule was impossible to change. He had no idea how he might regain his freedom.
He gave a deep, inward sigh. As Bill Townsend had implied just now, being all alone in the world was a frightening prospect. Sometimes, you were better off with the devil you knew.
Bill Townsend had been pleasantly surprised at Jacob’s offer to join him. ‘You’re sure, are you, lad? I mean … as a rule, you’re allus in a rush to get home.’
Jacob’s uncomfortable existence was a secret from his workmates.
‘There’s no need for me to rush home. Not tonight anyway,’ Jacob answered warily. ‘Mum won’t be home till late,’ he lied. ‘She’s visiting some old friends in Darwen, and I’m to get my own dinner. To tell you the truth, I’m not much good at peeling spuds and all that, so I might as well enjoy a pint or two in the pub with all of you.’ Taking matters into his own hands was a rare and exciting thing. It made him feel proud, like a man should.
Of course his mother would make him pay for this, but just for tonight he didn’t care. He knew he would feel the weight of the poker across his back when he rolled home, all the merrier for a few pints, but his back was broad enough to take it, and his spirit all the stronger for having defied her.
‘Right then!’ Bill’s gruff voice rattled across the factory floor. ‘Anybody else? And don’t tell me you haven’t got a thirst on, because I know better! Surely, the missus won’t begrudge you one pint.’
He was greeted with a flurry of excuses.
‘Huh! You don’t know my missus.’
‘I’ve promised to take mine down to the Lion’s Head. There’s a darts match on tonight.’
‘An’ I’m looking forward to my woman’s fish pie and chips … best you’ve ever tasted.’
Bill decided they were all cowards of one sort or another. ‘Go on then, clear off,’ he taunted jokingly. ‘Miserable buggers, the lot of you!’
The men collected their wage packets and left one by one, some for home, some to make their way down to the pub.
The last person to collect his wages was Tom Denton.
‘What’s bothering you, Tom lad?’ Bill had promised himself that he wouldn’t ask again, but he didn’t like seeing Tom so troubled. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, and today you’ve been miles away in your thoughts. Is there anything I can do?’
Tom forced a smile. ‘Like I said, I promised the boy. And … well, I’ve got things to do, you know how it is.’
That was no lie. And they were important things, too long neglected.
For what seemed an age, the older man studied Tom. He was saddened to see how Tom’s ready smile never quite reached his eyes, and how he occasionally glanced towards the door like a man trapped. ‘I’m concerned about you,’ Bill admitted.
‘You’ve no need to be.’
‘Mebbe, mebbe not, but I want you to know … if you’ve got worries gnawing at you, I’d like to help if I can.’
Tom gave a weary little grin. ‘Show me a man who hasn’t got worries gnawing at him, but I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.’
‘Just remember then, lad, I’m here if you need to talk. You can trust me. I hope you know I’m not a man to blab about other folks’ business.’
‘I know. But like I say, I’m fine.’
In truth, Tom was desperate to confide in someone – his foreman, his own father – but it would not change the situation. Because they could not help him, however much they might want to.
Thanking Bill once again for his concern, he bade him good night.
When Bill heard the outer door bang shut, he went across to the window and looked out into the rainy street. ‘Why, in God’s name, do you put up with her, Tom, lad?’ he muttered. ‘She’s a bad lot. You’d be better off without her … you and Casey both.’ He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘If you ask me, it’s high time you took your boy, and cleared off out of it!’
He continued to watch as Tom pulled down his flat cap, turned up his coat collar and hurried away.
Bill’s mind was still on Tom, as he carried out a tour of the factory, checking that everything was safe and secure. It’s a pity he ever met that damned woman, he thought angrily. She’s like a bitch on heat, and I for one would never put up with it … not for love nor money.’
He glanced out the window, but Tom was long gone. ‘He’s a decent sort,’ he muttered to himself, as he turned off the many lights. ‘The lad deserves better.’
Hurrying along the street, Tom was deep in thought. Having carefully examined the situation for the umpteenth time, he was convinced he had made the right decision for everyone concerned. Even so, he felt no satisfaction or joy; only guilt.
He hurried on. When the tears rolled down his face, he brushed them away. Don’t you falter now, Tom, he softly chided himself. You know in your heart there is no other way.
‘MAM!’
Having run up the stairs, the boy was about to open the bedroom door when he heard his mother yell out, ‘Casey, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mam.’ He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. ‘The door’s stuck.’ He gave it another shove but it stayed fast.
‘Stop pushing on it!’ Ruth yelled back. ‘I’ve locked it. I don’t want folks bursting into my room when I’m changing.’
Buxom and shapely, with flowing brown hair, and dark eyes, Ruth Denton was an attractive woman, except for her narrow lips and whiney voice.
‘Stop
