Once again, there are some views expressed in this chapter that people may find upsetting.

Chapter Three

Arthur was mobbed at the school gate by his two nephews, seven year old Josh and five year old Jack, who were delighted to see their favourite uncle. Hefting Jack onto his shoulders, he swung Josh up onto his back, where the child clung like a monkey, and the party headed for home.

Once inside the family kitchen, Rosie made snacks for the boys – peanut butter on toast and strawberry milkshake – and a pot of tea for herself and her brother, while Arthur had a football kick-about, in the back garden, with the children. When afternoon tea was ready, they all assembled round the kitchen table, to eat and chat. Once the mini-meal was over, Josh and Jack went off to watch cartoons on TV, leaving their mum and uncle in the kitchen.

'So, what's your plan?' Rosie asked.

'I thought I'd go to the factory and meet Josie after work. I was planning to come out to all of you but I can see that's no longer necessary' – he mugged – 'so I'll just invite her to the wedding. I hope you'll come.'

'Are you kidding? Try keeping us away!' Rosie declared. 'And we'll try and persuade Mum to come, too. Dad can go hang, stupid prat.'

'Rosie, has Mum told you about Dad's drinking?'

'No, she never mentions it but Josie's told me stuff.'

'What kind of stuff?'

'Y'know about the complaints?'

Arthur nodded.

'Well, it's also been noted that he sometimes turns up to work a bit the worse for wear - '

'Like today,' Arthur agreed.

' – and she says 'e's a hair's breadth from a final warning.'

'What the fuck does 'e think 'e's playin' at?' Arthur was furious. 'He's a couple of years short o' getting' 'is pension. 'E should just be coastin', bidin' 'is time!' The longer Arthur stayed in his home town, the thicker his accent became, Rosie noted, although he still sounded a bit posh to her.

'Yeah, well, it's Mum I worry about,' Rosie muttered, not meeting her brother's eye.

'What do you mean?' Arthur demanded. 'He's not hitting 'er, is 'e?' He could feel his anger rising at the very idea that his mother might be a victim of domestic violence and he'd been too far away and too engrossed in his own life to be around to help

'I don't think so, no. I've never seen any marks on 'er, anyway, but she 'as to put up with 'is mood swings. I try to get 'er to come over 'ere on a Saturday and stay over – baby-sittin', like – 'cause he goes down the pub on Sat'day nights an' usually comes 'ome plastered.'

Arthur put his hand to his forehead.

'Oh, Rosie, someone shoulda told me! I woulda come home sooner…'

Rosie gave him an old-fashioned look.

'Arthur, Josie and I are big girls, y'know and quite capable of looking after our mum. If anything really bad 'ad 'appened, we woulda let you know. We talked about it and we decided that, whatever was keeping you down south must be pretty important and we didn't want anythin' to spoil it for you. You might be a bloke but you're not Superman! You don't 'ave to save the world!'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'I know you and Josie are capable. I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't. And I'm grateful that you were only thinking of my 'appiness but, honestly, Rosie, she's my mum too and if she's 'aving problems wi' Dad, I want to know.'

'OK, little bro, point taken, won't 'appen again. Now, 'ow long are you staying up 'ere?'

'I was plannin' on going 'ome tomorrow. We 'ave plans for the weekend. But, if I need to stay, I can let Mycroft know.'

'No, lovey, don't spoil your weekend. To be honest, I think Dad will need time to get used to the idea of you being…you! Probably best to let 'im stew on it for a bit. But, in t' meantime, you need to keep us in the loop wi' the wedding plans. I mean, two ready-made page boys, right 'ere! Not to mention a couple o' very able Maids of Honour. I'm not being pushy or owt but, y'know…' she concluded, with a knowing look.

Arthur grinned and leaned across to kiss his sister's cheek.

'If we decide to have page boys or Maids of Honour, you'll be the first to know,' he promised, 'but I best get off, if I want to catch Josie before she leaves work.'

'I'll text 'er, tell 'er you're on yer way,' Rosie assured him.

Rising from the table, the siblings hugged and Arthur popped his head round the sitting room door to say goodbye to his nephews. Hugs and kisses ensued and then Arthur left, to meet his youngest sister and get the full goods on his dad's problems at work.

ooOoo

Josie was waiting by the main factory gates when Arthur strode into view. He may have left the army but he still cut a very dashing figure, straight-backed, broad-shouldered and devastatingly handsome. Josie ran to meet him and threw her arms around his neck.

'Oh, Artie, it's so good to see you. Rosie's told me what happened at home. Are you OK?'

'Hello to you too,' he quipped, when he managed to get a word in edgeways. 'And, yes, I'm OK. How are you?'

'I'm OK, too!'

Pleasantries exchanged, they linked arms and set off to walk to Josie's flat.

Josie was the middle child, two years younger than Rosie, with the same age gap between her and Arthur. She had left school at sixteen, after taking her GCSE's, to go to the local College of Further Education, and rather than take 'A' levels in academic subjects, she took GNVQ's up to Level 3, in office management. On leaving there, she got a job at the plastics factory, in Human Resources, and worked her way up. She was now the office manager, second only to the Head of HR. She had her eye on that job, too, eventually.

Josie had met her long-term boyfriend at school and they had stayed together all through college – he trained as a chef – and, much to her dad's disapproval, moved into a rented flat as a couple, once they both found permanent employment. Just a year ago, they had decided to split up, after being in a relationship for fifteen years. By mutual consent, Josie had kept the flat and he had moved out, gone back to his parents' house. It was all very amicable.

'Do you see anything of Kieran?' Arthur asked, looking round the familiar sitting room and remembering how happy Kieran and his sister had seemed, here.

'Oh, yeah, we bump into each other now and then. He's workin' in a posh gastro-pub in Manchester, now. They've got two Michelin stars.'

Arthur was impressed. He sat at the breakfast bar that separated the sitting room and kitchen areas in this modern, two-bedroomed flat, whilst Josie pottered around, making a pot of tea.

'Unless you'd like something stronger,' she offered.

He shook his head. He wasn't much of a drinker. Tea would be just fine.

'I suppose you want to know about Dad's problems?' she said – a statement, not a question.

'Mum and Rosie gave me a rough idea but I'd rather hear it from the 'orse's mouth,' he replied.

'Eh! Who are you callin' a horse?' she exclaimed, in mock indignation. 'Well, OK, I'll spill the beans but you first. Who is he, what's he like, where did you meet?'

'Anything else?' he chuckled.

'I'm sure I'll have many more questions but those will do for starters,' she replied, with a satisfied nod.

So Arthur repeated pretty much everything he had told his other sister – though with far more interruptions with demands for clarification – and ended with the description of Mycroft's proposal, at the Royal Opera House.

'Oh, how romantic!' Josie sighed. 'He sounds lovely!'

Arthur gave a shrug.

'Well, I think so. He's always been lovely t' me and he is a big softie with the kids but at work they call 'im The Iceman.'

'Quite right. At work, you have to be professional and, if ice is required – which I imagine it is in his job – then ice it is. And, speaking of work, I suppose it's my turn now?'

Arthur nodded.

'How much trouble is he in, Jose?'

'Lots,' was the short answer. She then went on to list all the things that had gone against her dad getting the Assistant Manager's job and how he had reacted to the disappointment and started with the drinking.

'The thing is, Artie, we both know our dad has never been the most PC of persons but ever since he got friendly with that Mick Robinson, he's gone off the scale.'

'Who's Mick Robinson?' It wasn't a name that Arthur recognised.

'He moved onto the estate a couple o' years ago and started goin' in T' Crown.' That had always been Arthur Senior's local pub, ever since they had moved into their family home, when Arthur Junior was just a little boy.

'They got chattin', as y'do, and before you know it, they're BFF's. One by one, all Dad's old mates drifted away. They didn't like Mick or his poxy views.'

'What views?' Arthur asked. 'Don't tell me he's National Front or something, or UKIP?'

'Oh, much worse than that. He's a bloody White Supremacist! The man is evil!'

Arthur was shocked to the core.

'And our dad is mates with 'im?'

Josie shrugged.

'It's like he's sort of 'turned' him. You know you read about these young Muslim kids who get radicalised? Well, it's sort o' like that. It's a bit scary, actually, 'cos he just doesn't seem like our dad any more.'

Arthur shook his head, despondently. It was all a bit much to take in.

'D'y'want t' stay f't'supper?' Josie asked, changing the subject.

'No, thanks, Jose. I promised Mum I'd be back for supper. I want to have another go at talking to Dad before I go back down south, tomorrow. But thanks for askin'. And thanks for being Ok about…you know, my revelations.'

'Hardly news to me an' Rosie, bro! I've known you were gay since y'was a nipper!'

'Really? What gave it away?' he asked, with a challenging grin.

'Well, the Barbie dolls, for one!' she said, with a casual shrug of the shoulders.

Arthur burst out laughing.

'I never touched your Barbie dolls!' he declared.

'No, but you couldn't keep yer 'ands off Ken!'

'I NEVER!' he protested, as Josie shrieked with laughter at the look of outraged innocence on his face.

'I don't really know 'ow, chuck. I just knew,' she admitted, at last, 'but I was spot on!' She licked her finger and marked up an Air Point to herself.

'Are you happy here, Jose, on your own?' he asked, suddenly serious.

She reached over and squeezed his arm.

'Never better,' she pronounced, emphatically. 'I'm my own boss. I can eat what I like, when I like; I can go to bed when I like and with whoever I like and I can watch whatever I like on the telly without somebody sighing every five minutes and asking me what time it finishes. I'm 'appy as a pig in muck, me!'

'I'm glad,' Arthur replied, 'cos so am I!'

They said their goodbyes, with promises to keep more in touch, especially with updates about the wedding and about their father's dangerous liaisons, and Arthur left, to take the twenty minute walk to his parents' house, arriving home just before seven in the evening.

'Mum, I'm home,' he called, as he pushed open the back door and shrugged out of his light jacket. The smell of food cooking was making his mouth water, as he recognised the aroma of his mum's own take on the Lancashire hotpot.

'Aw, that smells lovely, Mum. Is it nearly ready?' he asked, as he heard someone come into the kitchen from the sitting room.

'It might be nearly ready, lad, but that's nowt to do wi' you,' came his father's voice, right behind him.

Arthur turned round, slowly, instantly tense and apprehensive.

'Why's that, Dad?' he asked, looking down from his four inch height advantage into his father's dark eyes.

'Cos you won't be 'avin' none of it.'

'And - again - why's that, Dad?'

'Don't call me Dad. You're no son o' mine.'

Arthur took a step back to get his father out of his personal space but his dad took a step, too, and was back in his face again.

'Dad, this is stupid. Can we not sit down and talk about it?'

'You've said enough, already, and I don't want to 'ear nothin' more about your twisted private life, yer dirty blackguard. Now, get out o' my 'ouse an' don't ever set foot in it again!'

Arthur stepped back once more, so his back was against the kitchen counter.

'Mum asked me to come back for supper. I think that means I'm here by invitation,' he said, calmly.

'This is MY house and I did NOT invite you,' his father roared, his face red with anger, the adrenalin pumping.

Arthur could feel his own heart thundering in his chest and hear his pulse whooshing in his ears and he was beginning to shake but he kept his voice level.

'This is Mum's house, too. I'd like to hear her opinion. If she tells me to go, I'll go.'

'This is MY HOUSE!' his father roared again, spittle flying from his lips, such was his vehemence. 'It's MY name on t' rent book and MINE only! So GET OUT!'

Arthur's mum suddenly appeared at the kitchen door. She was ashen, wringing her hands in anguish.

'Mum?' Arthur said.

'Oh, please, love. I'm sorry but just go. It's f' the best.'

Arthur nodded, lips pursed tightly together, brows knit.

'OK, Mum. I understand. I'll need my bag and stuff…'

'It's int' front garden!' his dad spat. 'I chucked it out t' window.

Arthur nodded again and went to walk past his dad towards his mother but the other man side-stepped to block him.

'Where the 'ell d'ye think you're goin'?' he asked, belligerently.

'I'm going to say goodbye to my mother,' Arthur growled through gritted teeth and pushed past his father to stride across the kitchen to his mum, who was weeping, quietly. He enfolded her in his arms and whispered,

'It's OK, Mum. I understand. I'll keep in touch. Tell the girls if you need anythin'. They'll let me know.' He knew his mother would not be allowed to contact him directly.

He kissed the top of her head.

'Love you, Mum,' he said then turned and walked out through the back door. He went round to the front garden and picked up his travel bag from where it lay, upside down, on the lawn. The zipper was open so his belongings almost fell out but he shoved them back inside and zipped up the bag before swinging it over his shoulder.

As he left the garden, though the front gate, he took out his iPhone and thumbed open 'thetrainline' App then pressed 'Next train.' There was one due in fifteen minutes which had a connection to Euston from Manchester Piccadilly, getting into London just after ten pm. He jogged to the station to be sure of catching that train and hopped on, just as the doors were about to close. He dropped into the nearest empty seat and looked out at the dark countryside as the train left the town behind. Taking out his mobile, again, he texted Mycroft:

Arriving Euston 2210hrs tonight.

After a few moments, his text alert pinged. It read:

So sorry, my love. I'll send a car.

ooOoo

I have to admit to a bit of poetic licence with regards to the geographical location of Arthur's home town. Stalybridge is now part of Greater Manchester and has been since 1st April 1974, but that is not a very poetic place name! Historically, it was in Northern Cheshire but it is so close to the old Lancashire border that the accent is far closer to a Lancashire one than the one normally associated with Cheshire. So, for the purposes of my Storyverse, I moved Stalybridge over the county border into Lancashire. Sorry if this offends anyone!

Why chose Stalybridge and not somewhere else to be Arthur's home town? Well, I used to pass though the town a lot on the train and it has the most gorgeous Victorian railway station! So, when I thought of Arthur going home, it was to Stalybridge that he went, in my head. Simple as that! *HUGS*