‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘But it’s ten past five. Dad’ll be home soon.’ He tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Get away from that door, and wait downstairs. I’ll not be long.’
‘That’s what you always say, and you still take ages.’ Putting his back to the door, Casey slid down into a crouched position. Slightly built, with thick brown hair and dark, striking eyes, he had his father’s kindly nature. ‘Mam?’
‘I thought I told you to clear off.’
‘Has the man gone?’
‘What man?’ Panic marbled her voice. ‘What are yer talking about? There’s no man ’ere!’
‘No, I mean just before, when I came up the street, I saw a man at the door. I thought you’d let him in.’
She gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Oh, that man? O’ course I didn’t let him in. I sent him packing.’
‘Did you? But I never saw him go.’ Casey’s instincts told him she was lying, and it wouldn’t be for the first time.
‘Just do as yer told!’ Ignoring his comment about ‘the man’, she softened her voice. ‘Go down now, Casey. I’ll be there directly with money for the fish an’ chips.’
There followed a long pause, causing her to believe he’d gone.
‘Little sod! He’s eight years old, going on eighty!’ Snuggling up to the man’s naked body, Ruth ran her fingers down his neck. ‘I were counting on the two of us having a good hour together, and now he’s gone and ruined it.’
The man reached out and tweaked her erect nipple. ‘Aw, well,’ he sighed, ‘next time, mebbe. When the brat’s at school.’
‘MAM!’
‘For pity’s sake, I told yer to go downstairs!’
‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Nobody!’
‘I thought I heard somebody.’
‘Well, that were probably me, talking to myself, like a crazy woman. It’s you that sends me crazy, allus hanging about, spying on me at every turn. Do like I say and sod off downstairs.’
‘There’s nothing to do.’
‘Well … find summat to do. Clean your dad’s guitar, if you want. Just busy yerself till I come down.’
‘But I need you to come down now. I need to get the fish and chips. Dad’ll be hungry.’
‘By, yer a persistent little git, aren’t yer, eh?’ Grabbing her shoe from the floor, she threw it at the door, where it landed with a thump. ‘I’ll not tell you again! Just get off out of it. D’you hear me?’
‘Can I really clean Dad’s guitar?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, yeah … I expect so.’ She knew how much that guitar meant to Tom. His own father had taught him to play it when he was even younger than Casey was now.
Some years ago, when his father contracted arthritis in his fingers and couldn’t play it any more, he handed the guitar down to Tom.
‘Take good care of it, lad,’ Tom had told her many times of what his father had said, ‘When you play, you must open your heart to its magic. Listen to what it tells you, and you’ll be repaid tenfold.’
On teaching his own son how to play it, Tom told Casey of his grandfather’s words, and Casey had never forgotten them.
He recalled them now. ‘Mam, I’ll go downstairs, but if I polish the guitar, can I play it afterwards … please?’
‘YES! I don’t give a bugger what you do with the thing. So long as yer don’t keep botherin’ me. It doesn’t make money, and it doesn’t put food on the table, and sometimes when your father’s down there playing till all hours, we can none of us get any sleep. That blessed guitar is for neither use nor ornament. As far as I’m concerned, yer can tek it to the pop-shop. Tell old Foggarty he can have it for a few quid.’
The boy was shocked to his roots. ‘You can’t say that! It’s Dad’s guitar, not yours!’
When there was no response, he waited a moment, pressing his ear to the door. He thought he heard someone sniggering, and it didn’t sound like his mam. Now, though, in the ensuing silence, he wasn’t so sure.
‘You won’t be long before you come down, will you, Mam?’
He was greeted with silence.
‘I’m going down now, Mam, but I need to go to the chip shop. All right?’
The silence thickened.
‘MAM!’ He couldn’t get her suggestion out of his mind. ‘You wouldn’t really take Dad’s guitar to Foggarty’s, would you?’
‘I bloody would! I’ll tek you, an’ all, if you don’t get away from that door!’ The impact of a second object being hurled at the door made Casey back off.
Concerned by her threat to sell his dad’s guitar to old Foggarty, he kicked the door with the toe of his shoe, and ran off down the stairs. A smile crept across his face at the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. Then he thought of his mother, and the smile fell away.
Deep down, he knew his mam had no love for his dad, and that was not fair, because he worked hard to give her everything; to give them both everything.
He recalled the man he had seen outside the door. He couldn’t help but wonder if the man really had been allowed inside the house. But if that was true, where was he now?
When the dark suspicions crept into his thoughts, he thrust them away and concentrated on the idea of playing his dad’s guitar. He remembered everything he’d been taught, and now he went through it all in his mind. When he played the guitar, the music was in his head and in his heart. When Casey listened to his own music, he felt incredibly happy, happier than at any other time. It was magic, feeling the smooth wood, warm and alive, against him. When he moved his fingers along the strings and the guitar began to sing, it was so hauntingly beautiful, it made him want to cry.
He had told his dad how he felt, and his dad explained, ‘That’s because the guitar is speaking to you, bringing your senses alive. Music is an age-old language. It speaks to everyone, young and old. It lifts the spirit and touches the heart, and when it stops it lives on inside you, making you richer in mind and spirit.’
Casey understood. Daddy made it all so easy to understand. He adored his dad, but sometimes he didn’t like his mam. She shouted a lot, and she told lies. Just now, she said he could play the guitar, but only because she wanted him to go away. But why did she want him to go away? Why couldn’t she just come down and give him the fish-and-chip money?
At the back of his mind, he knew why, but it was such an awful thing, he didn’t even want
