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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Sometimes the right choice is the hardest of all. In the autumn of 1942, fifteen-year-old Ruby is collected from her aunt's guesthouse by her grandfather and taken to live with him in a small Lancashire village. A few days after her arrival, American GIs take over a nearby army camp, but although the young black soldiers are ready to help with the war effort, they are mistrusted by their own army officers, and spend their time in the village. Before long tension rises between the troops and the locals, some of whom still have embedded racial prejudices. As the village becomes increasingly divided, Ruby and her friends must struggle with first love, dangerous friendships and the difficultly of doing what is right in a chaotic and unfair world.
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Seitenzahl: 617
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
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Ruby’s War
JOHANNA WINARD
In memory of Private William Crossland who was killed during the real Battle of Bamber Bridge on the 24th June 1943
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Ruby left the guest house and turned down the familiar street of cramped boarding houses. As she neared the school, the squeals and yells of the children in the playground replaced the sound of bickering gulls. She hurried across the main road and waited at the edge of the girls’ yard, until Mavis left the skipping game and came over to speak to her.
‘Are you coming to help with the infants?’ she asked, taking in Ruby’s gymslip and turquoise jumper.
Ruby shook her head. ‘I’m going to the cobbler’s to collect some shoes for one of the guests. I could come back this way. When you come out, we could walk home together.’
‘I can’t,’ Mavis said, rubbing her turned-up nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m going for my lesson. My mum’s paying for me to go to Miss Sumner for shorthand and typing. When I leave, I’m going to work in the newspaper offices with my Auntie Barbara.’
A decaying, Victorian glass-topped canopy sheltered the row of shops opposite the school. The cobbler’s little shop was squeezed in at the end next to the barber. She opened the door, the brass bell tinkled and Mr Bentham looked up at her over his glasses. The shop smelt of leather, glue and pipe tobacco. When Ruby handed him the ticket, he put down his pipe and went along the rough wooden racks at the back of the counter, mumbling to himself and inspecting the numbers chalked on the soles of the shoes.
‘Crawford, Crawford. Here we are, a resole. Hand-stitched,’ Mr Bentham said, lowering his voice, as if telling her a secret. ‘Very nice.’
Ruby walked back home up another street of identical boarding houses to Everdeane, her uncle’s guest house. Halfway along, as the smell of the salty air grew stronger and the clamour of the gulls rippled down the narrow street, she slowed her pace. In a shady alleyway between the blocks of houses, someone had chalked a hopscotch on the ground. Ruby tucked the shoes under her arm and hopped from square to square. The game wasn’t much fun to play alone, and after a couple of tries, she wandered back up the prom towards the guest house.
Ruby stood at the bottom of the stairs, unsure if she should take the shoes up to Mr Crawford’s room or leave them on the hall table, as if they were a telegram or a letter. The house was quiet, except for the sound of muffled voices – one high and two much deeper ones – coming from the kitchen. The sound made her tingle. Abandoning the shoes by the elephant’s foot umbrella stand, she edged towards the kitchen door. She recognised Auntie Ethel’s voice and Uncle Walt’s. The third, a softer voice, she was sure could only belong to her dad. In the dark corridor Ruby pulled up her ankle socks, tugged down the hem of her gymslip and with a trembling hand opened the door.
When she saw who was sitting at the table with Uncle Walt and Auntie Ethel, she was afraid. The three adults were leaning forwards, as if waiting for someone to take a turn in a game of cards, but there were no cards on the worn oilcloth. The air was heavy, thickened with secrets. As she waited by the door for them to notice her, Ruby’s stomach did the kind of tickle and flop it did on fairground rides. Then her Auntie Ethel looked up.
‘Your granddad’s going to take you for a stroll along the prom, Ruby,’ she said.
Granddad got up slowly and began buttoning his long brown mac. ‘Train back is at half past four,’ he said.
‘Then you’d best hurry,’ Auntie replied, getting up from the table and straightening her overall with her bony fingers.
No one smiled, and as Ruby followed her granddad down the dimly lit hall, her knees began to wobble. He waited for her at the foot of the worn stone steps, leaning on the white balustrade near the gate. The sign hanging above his head read: ‘Everdeane Select Guest House. Proprietor Mr W. A. O’Kane.’ Granddad’s wiry, pepper-coloured hair was lifting in the salt breeze. He tugged his cap out of his pocket and put it on. When she reached the bottom step, he strode ahead of her across the road to the promenade, where Tommy Wright and two other boys from her school were playing football. The tide was in. The sea was gentle. Its soft, silky grey ripples calmed her.
‘I thought it was Dad. When I heard you, I thought he’d come. Do you think he knows about Mum?’ she asked, nibbling the end of one dark-red pigtail.
‘No, Ruby, love. He’d have come, or written, at least. Thinks the world of you.’
It wasn’t bad news; she’d been afraid he was going to say he wasn’t coming back. But instead, he’d said, ‘He thinks the world of you.’ He was alive. He’d be coming for her. She grinned at Granddad, and when Tommy Wright’s mucky ball caught her in the middle of the back, she laughed and kicked it back to him.
‘Thanks, Ruby,’ he shouted.
‘That’s not a bad shot,’ Granddad said approvingly. ‘Are the lads from your school?’
‘All three of them. Two are evacuees. It’s their turn to go in the mornings this week. The one that kicked the ball is Tommy Wright. He was in my class. He tells everybody he’s fifteen, but he’s not. He’s fourteen and a half. He was always getting the cane. When we had gas mask practice, he pretended to choke and he made his mask do this rude noise. Last time, the teacher caught him.’
‘Sounds like your dad. I remember his teacher collaring me one day and saying he’d upset old Miss Garvey. Every time she’d bent down, him or his mate made this farting sound with their hands, and she got that upset.’
They giggled, and for a moment, Ruby felt that it was going to be all right. Auntie Ethel always said neither her dad nor her granddad had ever grown up. That’s why he could see the joke and why he would have arrived at Everdeane on a whim. Other grown-ups wouldn’t have turned up unannounced, unless they’d come with bad news. But Granddad might have come just because he’d fancied a ride out on the train and wanted to buy some cockles for his tea.
‘This is where I last saw Dad,’ she said. ‘He was standing right here. He’d had a late night and he was watching us on the beach. We were digging sand, filling sandbags. It was too hard for most of us. There were lots of people helping, not just kids from our school; a lot of men were helping as well.’
‘Bet he didn’t.’
She laughed and waved her hands. ‘You know what he’s like. “My hands, Ruby, love. I’ve got to look after my hands.” He just stood there watching the rest of us.’
‘Always the same excuse,’ Granddad said, taking a packet of five Woodbines from his pocket. ‘Can’t do any real work, it would spoil his piano hands.’
For a few minutes, they watched the gulls bobbing on the quiet water. Then he took out a cigarette.
‘Ruby, love,’ he said, turning away to light it. ‘Now your mum’s gone, I think it’s best you come and live with me.’
‘I can’t,’ she said squinting up at him. ‘Auntie needs me here. We’re full all the time now. It’s not like before. It doesn’t go quiet in winter any more. Not now all the government people have been moved up here to work. We’re full all the time.’
‘Auntie Ethel thinks it’s a good idea. I’m … well … I’m your closest relative.’
‘Well, tell her you don’t mind.’
‘It’s the room … I think they want the room. It’s like you said, all these government departments are sending all their pen-pushers up here, so there’s money to be made, even out of that little box room of yours.’
Ruby felt her cheeks begin to burn. She turned away and looked down at the waves. She tasted salt in her mouth and swallowed. Then a coldness – as familiar as the chill wind from the sea – curled around her.
‘I’m sure you’ve been a good lass … but … anyway. That’s why she sent for me. There’s a train back in half an hour,’ he said, leaving the sea wall and heading back over to Everdeane. ‘We’ve got to pick your case up.’
‘Dad thinks I’m here,’ she whispered to the silky waves. ‘He’ll come here looking for me.’
Her small case was in the porch. Through the leaded light in the front door, she could see the wavy shapes of her aunt and uncle moving towards them. Auntie Ethel opened the door and pushed another battered suitcase out on to the step. She was wearing her apron and Pearl’s fox-fur stole around her neck.
‘Your mother’s things are in here. I’ve taken nothing for myself, except this,’ she said, stroking the fox’s paw. ‘It’s no use to you, and she was my sister and well … Most of it’s evening wear, but I know you’re handy with a needle, so perhaps they’ll come in. Here’s her ration book,’ she said, handing the small blue book to Granddad. ‘Now, you be a good girl, Ruby.’
The fur stole had been a present from her father. He’d arrived on Christmas morning with presents for them both, a pretty dress for her and the fox fur for her mother. On the same visit, he’d taken them out for tea. There’d been a band playing, and when he’d got up to dance with her mother, everyone in the room had watched them. She’d felt proud because they’d looked so glamorous.
Auntie Ethel went back down the hall, the grinning fox over her narrow shoulder. Uncle Walt watched her go, and when the kitchen door closed, he handed Ruby her mother’s music case.
‘This is yours,’ he said, stroking the soft chestnut leather. ‘It belonged to Pearl. Her musical arrangements. Some your dad did for her.’
‘Best get going,’ Granddad said. ‘We’ll have to take our time with these cases.’
He picked up her mother’s case. As he began to carry it down the steps, Uncle Walt pressed a ten-shilling note into her hand, before slipping back inside the house.
The train was quite full. She waited on the platform with the cases until Granddad found a carriage with two empty seats. Ruby sat by the window with her back to the engine. In the west, the sky was silver-grey tinged with a delicate flush of orange, as though the colour of the gentle, silky water had been caught up by the dying sun. The idea comforted her and the dark chill began to lift. As the train began to move she fixed her gaze on the sunset, until the sky darkened and the guard called for all the blinds to be pulled down.
The compartment was crowded and dimly lit. Ruby hugged the music case to her chest, sniffing its familiar leather smell. The rough moquette seats made her legs feel itchy, and she tried to pull her school mac down to protect her bare legs. She gazed at the sepia photographs of Loch Katrine above the seats opposite, forced her tears back into her aching throat and tried to ignore her prickly legs.
The blue light made the other passengers appear indistinct. Her grandfather’s head seemed pale and insubstantial, as though at any moment it might float free from his body. In the semi-darkness an American soldier hugged a pretty blonde, whose left hand lay like a starfish on the chest of his uniform, displaying a glittering new wedding ring. Snuggling close to the young man, the girl explained to the other passengers, a middle-aged couple and a lady in a brown suit and polished brogues, that they had been on honeymoon and her new husband was due back at his base the next day.
‘What a coincidence,’ the older woman said. ‘We’ve been to a wedding ourselves. My cousin’s daughter. Her young man is in the navy. We were hoping our sons could get leave. They’re both in the RAF. Dick, my eldest, has been in since 1940. He’s a radio operator. My younger boy, Christopher, was called up at the beginning of the year.’
‘You must be very proud of your boys,’ the lady in the brown suit said. ‘I don’t know what we should have done without the RAF. My family is from London. They were bombed out in 1940. This will be the first time I’ve visited them in their new place. My job was moved up here away from the conflict. I was told I needed to get the London train from Preston.’
‘The next train should leave in about twenty minutes,’ Granddad said, consulting his fob watch. ‘You’ve plenty of time.’
‘Have you been on holiday?’ the lady asked.
‘No,’ Granddad said, shifting uneasily in his seat. ‘I’ve been to collect my granddaughter. She’s been helping out at her aunt’s guest house.’
The train rolled to a halt and the engine hissed.
‘I hope they tell us when we arrive at the stations,’ the middle-aged woman said. ‘You can’t tell if we are waiting for a signal, or if we’re at a station. They said when they moved the signs from the platforms that there would be someone to call out the name of the stations, but there isn’t.’
‘We travelled up from Preston during the day,’ her husband added. ‘They didn’t do it then. This lady wanted to get off at Kirkham and she missed her stop. We can’t even see out now, so how are we to know?’
‘Well, we’ll not miss Preston,’ Granddad said. ‘It’s a big station. I know it well. I worked there for years.’
When they arrived at Preston station, the American soldier helped them out of the train with their luggage. The platform was full of British soldiers who were boarding a waiting train. Ruby struggled through the crowd, dodging kitbags and trying to keep Granddad’s tall figure in view.
‘Excuse me, love,’ one of the soldiers said as Ruby struggled by with her case. ‘Can you post this?’ he asked, handing her a crumpled envelope. The soldier wore a greatcoat and his eyes were red and bleary. He put down his kitbag and handed her two pennies. ‘I haven’t been able to get a stamp,’ he said.
‘What’s the matter, son?’ Granddad asked.
‘I was asking this young lass if she could post this for me. It’s to let my girl know where I am.’
The train began to make steam and the weight of men on the platform forced the young soldier forwards. He hitched his bag on his shoulder, and as he was carried away, he looked back through the crowd towards Ruby and her granddad.
‘Don’t worry, son. We’ll see it gets sent,’ Granddad called, but his voice was lost amongst the sound of slamming doors and the hiss of escaping steam.
Their second train was much smaller and the carriage was empty. After barely ten minutes, they arrived at a deserted station. It was a clear night, and she could make out a steep, shrub-covered spoil bank behind the opposite platform. The air smelt of coal smoke, and Ruby could hear traffic crossing the railway bridge above her. She shivered and put down her suitcase next to the empty ticket office.
Steep wooden steps led from the station’s platform on to the railway bridge. At the top, Granddad put down the larger case. She could hear his chest rattle, as his whole body bent to the task of filling his lungs with the thick, damp air.
‘This bridge is the highest point round here,’ he said between gasps. ‘On a good day you can see for miles.’
Ruby was about to ask if she would be able to see Blackpool Tower, when the darkness around them filled with the yowling of injured animals. She shuddered. They sounded very near.
‘Did they make you jump?’ Granddad laughed. ‘It’s only the engines in the shunting yards. You’ll get used to them soon enough. Other side of this bridge, there’s big sheds for trains. Goods trains. Massive things.’
The road was busy. Beams from the narrow headlights of a blacked-out bus appeared suddenly at the top of the bridge. When the updraught from the double-decker hit them, it made her blink and press as close as she could to the rough wood fence.
‘Now watch yourself,’ Granddad said. ‘The footpath’s narrow over these two bridges. Not too bad when we get down the other side. Have you a torch?’
‘I have one at home … at Auntie’s,’ she said.
Ruby followed her grandfather down the first bridge and up to the top of a second one. Below her the silver tangle of railway lines clattered, the straining engines spat and the sound of their wailing filled the night.
At the foot of the second bridge, there was a row of blacked-out shops on one side of the road. On the opposite side, she could see a large, white public house, a line of white cottages, followed by a short string of terraced villas and then a longer terrace of smaller houses. As they walked by the shops, Ruby found it hard to see but she made out the darkened windows of a butcher’s shop, a newsagent, and then the broad, dome-shaped door of a church hall. Between them, she glimpsed narrow side streets, each with a line of the same squat houses. Her grandfather turned down one of the streets. Points of light bounced towards them from the torches of passers-by, who called out ‘good neet’ into the blackness.
Granddad rapped sharply on one of the front doors and pushed it open. She followed him, stumbling down the two steps into a small room. There was a table in the centre with a gas mantle hissing softly above it. The shadows above the gaslight hid the face of a woman standing by the table. All Ruby could see was her old-fashioned black blouse and the equally black brooch at the collar.
‘Who’s this?’ the woman asked, as her granddad put down the big suitcase.
‘This is our Will’s little lass,’ he said. ‘Ruby, love, this is your Auntie Maud. Always makes a fuss of your dad, does Maud. She’s not seen you since you were a babby.’
‘Humph,’ Auntie Maud said, taking a seat at the table. ‘I thought she was with her mother’s people.’
‘Well, Ethel thinks she’d be better here,’ Granddad said, sitting down next to her.
‘Oh, does she,’ Auntie Maud said, opening the newspaper that was lying on the table.
The room fell silent. Now that the woman was seated, Ruby could see that she had round glasses and the same sharp nose as Granddad. Gazing into the shadows beyond the gas mantle’s yellow light, she could make out a heavy dresser with an oval photo frame on top and a full-length photograph of a young man in uniform hanging on the wall above it. She wondered if the young man might be her grandfather. The only other piece of furniture was a single bed, partly hidden by a curtain that hung from the ceiling. There was a huge white shape under the counterpane.
‘That’s your Uncle Joe, Ruby,’ Granddad said, taking off his cap and nodding towards the figure on the bed. ‘He’s not well,’ Granddad added. ‘He needs someone to …’
‘He’s got someone,’ Auntie Maud snapped.
Getting up from the table, Maud hobbled over to the hearth and filled a small white teapot from the kettle. They watched as she made her way slowly over to the bed, pushed back the curtain and put the spout of the lidless teapot into Uncle Joe’s mouth.
‘So you’d best take this lass home. And if your fancy woman don’t like it, then she knows what she can do. If she does clear off, ’appen the little lass can manage for thee.’
‘Just for a couple of nights. She’d be a good help.’
‘Not for an hour. No. I know you too well, our Henry.’
‘What do you say, Joe?’
Uncle Joe had the same thin nose as Auntie Maud and Granddad, but the rest of him was very white and fat. He made Ruby think of a young gull, so when he turned his bloated form towards them and fixed them with a bright black eye, she almost expected him to open his mouth and squawk.
‘You never mind what Joe thinks,’ Auntie Maud said. ‘You just get that lass home.’
Then Maud sat down with her back towards them, and all Ruby could see was her aunt’s fine grey hair, plaited and rolled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The room was silent again, except for the rustle of the thin newspaper as Auntie Maud turned the page. Then the clock on the mantelpiece began to stir, making first a grating sound as though it was clearing its dry throat, before commencing its uncertain chime. On the opposite side of the table, Granddad’s shoulders appeared to shrink, making his mac look much too big for his narrow frame. It was seven o’clock. Ruby remembered that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven-thirty, and as though reacting to a signal, on the final stroke her stomach began to rumble. The chimes were also a signal to Granddad who, as the clock fell silent, made for the door.
Ruby followed him outside. In the blackout, the houses appeared to be so close together that she wondered if it would be hard for even the brightest sunlight to force its way down into the cobbled street. When they reached the main road, Granddad crossed over and made for the public house. Blackout material had been used to cover the glass in the door, but the name, The Railway Inn, had been cut out of the blind and the letters covered with a translucent mauve fabric. Through the dim shapes in the blind, she could see sleeves and shoulders pushed up against the door of the crowded bar.
‘We’d best go round to the back,’ Granddad muttered, turning into the narrow alleyway and capturing a soldier and his giggling girlfriend in the beam from his torch.
‘Clear off, you dirty buggers,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve a young lass here.’
Ruby wanted to tell him not to worry on her account – she’d lived in a guest house since she was nine and was used to courting couples. But Granddad had disappeared, and she was left to struggle with her suitcase in the dark. Then she heard a door open and music spilt out into the night.
‘Come on, Ruby, love,’ Granddad called. ‘Where are you?’
She headed towards the sound and a strong, warm hand took hers, guiding her into a narrow passageway that smelt of cigarette smoke and stale beer.
‘This here’s Johnny Finlay, Johnny Fin,’ her granddad said, nodding towards the large man standing next to him.
Johnny Finlay, who was over six foot five, bent down, put his huge hands on his knees and smiled. ‘Nice to meet you. Is that your music case?’
Johnny Finlay wasn’t a handsome man; there wasn’t even one hair on his wide bony skull, his nose was flat with a funny bump in the middle and his front teeth were missing. If she’d been alone, Ruby was sure she would have screamed with fright.
‘Oh, she’s got all her parents’ musical talent,’ Granddad said. ‘Now, Ruby, you wait here with the cases. Me and Johnny have a bloke to see.’
When he opened the door to the brightly lit bar, she heard someone call his name. Then Johnny Fin gave her a friendly wave and followed him. Ruby sat down on an empty beer crate. Since her mother’s death, whenever Auntie Ethel had given her a dull job to do, or when she’d finished her schoolwork before the other children, Ruby would slide back to the time before Pearl’s accident, and as there was nothing of interest in the hallway, she closed her eyes.
She was back at Everdeane. It was winter, and all the visitors had gone. She was with her mother in the guest bedroom they’d shared out of season. Sometimes in the early evening, they would sit together in the large bay window to watch the setting sun. Then, if she’d a booking at one of the clubs in town, her mother would sit down in front of the mirror, put on her make-up and become Pearl Barton, nightclub singer. Ruby had loved those times. Her mother would laugh and sing and talk about the club or the theatre where she was going to perform and how she might get asked back to sing again.
Ruby could smell her perfume, hear her excited giggles and the distant, tinkling music carried down the prom on the sea breeze. She felt someone shake her by the shoulder, smelt Pearl’s face powder and opened her eyes. For a moment she thought the woman in the dimly lit hallway was her mother, but she wasn’t as pretty.
‘What are you doin’ here?’ the woman asked. ‘Are you all right, love?’
The woman wore a glittery top and had blonde hair set in finger waves and, although she wasn’t as pretty as her mother, when she smiled Ruby could tell that she was kind.
‘It’s all right, Vera,’ a voice called from the doorway. ‘She’s with Henry. I think he’s trying to get up a bit of Dutch courage before he takes her home. It’s his granddaughter.’
‘Dutch courage? And you’re letting him?’
‘Best keep out of it.’
‘You can just go and tell him now, Bert Lyons, it’s more than your licence is worth to have a child in your pub.’
‘She’s not doin’ any harm.’
‘I know that, you soft bugger. The poor kid’s sat on her own in the dark, while he gets drunk. You tell him you’re not serving him, and he’s taking her home, now.’
Ruby followed her grandfather back through the yard to the front of the pub. This time, he didn’t seem to notice the couple cuddling in the dark. They walked back along the main road, past the row of white cottages, the darkened houses and the blacked-out shops and church hall on the opposite side. When the rows of houses ended, the footpath narrowed and the air became colder.
‘Be careful,’ Granddad said. ‘Here. Hold on to the belt of my coat. This bridge over the river is narrow. It’s not far now.’
As they edged their way up the little humped-back bridge, Ruby could hear the running water. They were almost at the top when the sound of a bus engine broke through the inky silence. The tiny slits of light from its headlamps sprang up in front of them, and her granddad pushed Ruby in close to the rough stone parapet.
‘Bloody fool,’ he shouted. ‘Fancy coming over at that speed in the blackout.’
At the bottom of the bridge they turned off the main road. Above them, the moon slid out from behind the clouds. They’d turned into a narrow lane with a single row of cottages on the opposite corner. Granddad didn’t cross over but walked up the lane between the tall hedgerows until they came to a single white stone cottage.
‘Here we are,’ he said, fastening up the belt on his mac. ‘You hungry?’
When he opened the front door someone screamed. A blonde-haired girl, wearing nothing but salmon-pink French knickers, was standing in the centre of a white sheet, her arms wrapped across her naked breasts. For a moment there was silence, and Ruby felt the warm air from the room swirl against her cold legs. Then the door behind the girl burst open, and a fat woman charged at them.
‘Don’t just bloody stand there, get out!’ she shouted and slammed the front door.
‘Shall I go round the back, Jenny, love?’ Granddad called through the letter box.
When there was no reply, he took out his cigarettes and squatted on his haunches. Clouds began to cover the moon and the darkness crept towards them, stealing up from the gate along the narrow garden. He pulled up his collar to light a match, and then all she could see was the tip of his cigarette, pulsing slowly with each inhalation. Ruby squeezed her music case tightly and swallowed hard. When he’d finished, he knocked on the door again. This time it swung open.
The fat woman’s cross face appeared from behind a swell of white cotton sheet. ‘Will you shut that door,’ she said, shaking and folding the fabric.
Then, with the folded sheet under one arm, she began collecting pieces of fine tweed cloth that were scattered on the furniture and the floor. Depending on the way it caught the light, the fabric was either a soft lilac or violet in colour. One of the pieces, a sleeve, lolled on the back of an easy chair by the open fire, another hung over a wooden chair next to the table, and still more were piled on the tabletop, where they clashed with the red crushed-velvet cover. The plump woman moved easily, bending to scoop up each piece of fabric, folding each one as she moved on to take up the next one. With each movement, her crystal drop earrings glittered icily.
Ruby shivered. In front of the range was a large brass fender with boxes for holding kindling built into its two corners. She would have loved to sit on the padded top of one of the brass boxes and stretch out her fingers to the coal fire, but thought it was better to stay by the door, until she was invited to sit down.
‘I offered to go round the back, Jenny, love.’
‘What, an’ walk in on our Sadie again, when she’s in the scullery havin’ a wash?’
The plump woman scooped up the pieces of a paper pattern that were lying on the floor, and as she settled down in an easy chair to fold them, there was a knock at the front door.
The blonde girl, now fully dressed, hurried in from the scullery. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said. ‘It’s only Lou.’
She opened the front door to a dark-haired girl of about her own age.
‘Oh, is this my suit?’ the girl asked, picking up a stray scrap of fabric from the flagged floor.
‘I was hoping to have it tacked up by now, and you could have tried it on,’ the woman replied. ‘I was pinning it on our Sadie, but we was interrupted.’
‘Who’s this?’ Lou asked, smiling at Ruby.
‘This is Ruby,’ Granddad said. ‘She’s my son’s daughter. Lives with her aunt, since she lost her mum. I’ve been over there to sort out some family business and thought I’d bring her home with me for a few days. She can stay in her dad’s old room.’
‘Ahh,’ the blonde girl cooed. ‘That’ll be nice. Nice to meet you, love. I’m Sadie and this is Lou.’
‘Hello, love,’ Lou said. ‘Haven’t you got lovely eyes.’
Outside, a horn tooted loudly, and the two young women checked their make-up in the mirror.
‘That’s our lift,’ Sadie said. ‘See you later. Don’t wait up.’
‘I don’t know what Jack’s mother will think when she sees a Yank calling for her son’s intended,’ Granddad said, as the sound of the engine died away. ‘Blackout or no blackout, she misses nothing.’
‘What Sadie does is no business of yours, Henry,’ the woman said.
Granddad bent down and picked up a delicate piece of paper pattern from the pegged rug.
‘I was wondering,’ he said, handing the piece to the woman. ‘Since Ruby will be staying here, would it be fitting for her to call you Grandma, Grandma Jenny? If you wouldn’t object?’
‘Well, it’s more respectful than Jenny,’ the woman said, and smiled slightly as she took the tissue paper from his outstretched hand. ‘I suppose she’ll need feeding as well.’
Granddad winked at Ruby and began unbuttoning his mac. ‘Take your coat off, Ruby,’ he said, ‘and we’ll hang it here. Then I’ll get the tablecloth. Is it in the dresser drawer, Jenny?’
‘It’s not Sunday,’ Jenny said, handing him a newspaper, which he opened out and spread over the velvet cloth.
‘Ruby and me will set the table,’ he said. ‘Leave that to us. I’m sure she knows how to set a table.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Jenny replied, getting up from the chair. ‘The plates are in the bottom of the oven in the range. Use the cloth on the rail to carry them, and make sure you put it back. Knives and forks are in the right-hand drawer,’ she said, pointing to the dresser by the kitchen door. ‘I’ll go and cut the bread.’
When Ruby pulled open the oven door, the smell of stew bubbling in the large brown pot made her feel dizzy. Granddad, who had taken off his jacket and his stiff collar, took a seat at the table, and as she set out the knives and forks, he did his secret grin and winked again.
‘Here. Put this on the table,’ Grandma Jenny said, coming back from the kitchen with a plate of bread. ‘I’ll bring the stew. No doubt it’s dry by now.’
‘Grandma Jenny is a very good cook, Ruby,’ Granddad said.
Jenny carried the steaming pot to the table. When she took off the lid, the rich smell filled the room.
‘Not too bad,’ she declared, spooning out the deep-brown stew on to the plates and tucking the tea towel in the waistband of her apron.
The food was warm and comforting. The meat was tasty, although Ruby didn’t recognise the strong, dark flesh. She squashed the soft, waxy potatoes into the viscous gravy and let the taste of the sweet carrots fill her mouth.
‘Now, that was worth waiting for,’ Granddad smiled, when they’d dabbed up every last drop and their plates were clean and dry. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, Ruby, love?’
‘Well it took you long enough to get home to it,’ Jenny said, ‘and via the pub, by the smell of you.’
‘It was the train. It was delayed,’ he said, avoiding Ruby’s eye. ‘The station was that busy, soldiers, all kinds. Ruby was getting knocked here and there. So I took her into the station bar to wait. All that luggage and rushing about, the lass could have been knocked off the platform. Might there be any pudding left?’ he asked.
‘You can’t expect to have decent food served up at the drop of a hat,’ Jenny said, surveying the empty plates. ‘You’re lucky there’s anything left. Was there Yanks at Preston?’ she asked. ‘Our Sadie says there’s a rumour that the Yanks are sending black GIs up here.’
‘No, they was ours. We had some black lads in France last time. They was Yanks. Nice enough lads, from what I could see. Jenny, love,’ he said, winking at Ruby, ‘did I see you coring apples this morning?’
‘It’s more than you deserve,’ she replied, heading over to the oven again.
The fat apples were filled with dried fruit, made soft and full with fragrant apple juice. At Everdeane, when baked apples were the pudding, there was much less fruit packed inside, and the visitors had been forced to use their individual sugar rations to make the tart flesh edible.
Once she’d eaten her apple, Ruby began to feel sleepy. It was only a holiday. A few days, he’d said. They just needed her room for a bit. She yawned. If they’d told her sooner, she could have been packed and waiting for Granddad when he’d arrived.
Jenny brought a large brown teapot over to the table and collected the dishes. Instead of drinking from his cup, Granddad tipped the tea into his saucer and began to sip it. Ruby expected Jenny to complain. Auntie Ethel would never have allowed it. No wonder she hadn’t offered him a cup of tea. But Jenny didn’t say anything. Instead, she opened up the white sheet again, and after pinning part of it across her wobbly bosom, began tacking the pieces of the suit together.
When they’d arrived, Jenny’s face had been pink and angry. Now, as she sat by the fireside, her wide doughy face looked tired.
‘If I’d known you were bringin’ her home, I’d have aired the bed,’ she said, slowly drawing her needle in and out through the fabric. ‘There’s a brick warming in the bottom of the oven. She can have that. I’d put it in for me, but as you’re home, you can warm my feet.’
‘You don’t worry, Jenny,’ Granddad said, getting up from the table and picking up the small case. ‘I’ll take her up.’ He handed Ruby the brick wrapped in a piece of old sheet. ‘Come on, Ruby, love. Let’s get you to bed.’
‘Is that all she’s been sent with?’ Jenny asked, eyeing the small brown case.
Ruby didn’t hear the reply and followed him through the kitchen and up the stairs. Granddad put the brick into the bed and set the case down near the door.
‘I’ll leave the landing door open just a bit. You can close it once you’ve got undressed,’ he said. ‘There’s no light in here. I’ll fix one up in the morning.’
‘The other case, Granddad,’ she said sleepily. ‘Is it …’
‘Sleep tight,’ he said, giving her a beery kiss. ‘It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Her bark’s worse than her bite.’
Ruby was too sleepy to find her nightclothes. Instead, she put her gymslip and school blouse on the cane chair by the bed and crept under the chilly sheets. The brick quickly warmed the top half of the mattress. Then she edged it down until she could curl up with the brick, parcelled in its thick layer of wrapping, a few inches from her feet. Her eyes closed, and telling herself that it was only a holiday, Ruby drifted away from the small, damp room.
CHAPTER TWO
When she opened her eyes, Ruby remembered Pearl’s suitcase. She sat up, but except for a thin line of light showing under the door, it was dark and she couldn’t see anything. The cold stung her bare arms, and she wriggled down again under the covers. Her toes probed the frayed sheet around the brick, but no warmth came through the wrapping. She stuck out a hand and was groping in the darkness, feeling for her socks among the muddle of clothes she’d left on the cane chair, when she heard angry voices coming from the kitchen. Pulling her hand back inside the safety of the blankets, Ruby listened. She thought it must be Granddad and Jenny, but she couldn’t be sure. Then she heard footsteps; someone walked along the landing and then back again. She slid further into her blanket cocoon and waited. The door opened slowly and a pale-grey light filled the room.
‘You awake?’ Sadie whispered.
Sadie wore a dark overcoat over her nightdress and carried a white enamel potty. She placed the naked toes of one foot on the lino and in two hops landed beside her on the bed.
‘Blimey, it’s cold in here,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought you this. It’s a bit small, but it will have to do.’
Ruby sat up and pulled on her school blouse. The chamber pot was worn and dented and had a thin blue line around the rim.
‘I was fifteen in February,’ she said, ‘I don’t …’
‘Well it’s either this or go outside,’ Sadie said.
‘The bathroom …’
‘Bathroom? There’s no bathroom, just the lavvy in the yard,’ she replied, unclipping the blackout curtain and pointing to a small red-brick outhouse with a rough wooden door. ‘It’s down there. You wouldn’t get me out there in the dark. It’s bad enough in the day, with Monty to contend with.’
‘Monty?’
‘Henry’s bloody cockerel.’
As if he’d heard his name, somewhere in the yard Monty began to crow.
‘That’s him,’ Sadie said. ‘When you go, don’t forget to take the long brush by the back door. If he comes for you, belt him with it. He’s a bugger for pecking your legs. He ruined a pair of my nylons last week.’
The voices from the kitchen grew louder, and Ruby scrambled out of bed and pulled on her crumpled gymslip.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Sadie said, settling down on the bed and pulling out a pack of Lucky Strikes from her pocket. ‘They’re always at it. Ever since we moved in here, it’s been the same.’
Ruby sat on the cane chair and gazed around the room. Apart from the old chair and the single bed, the only other piece of furniture was a small wooden bookcase. There were no curtains, except the blackout curtain Sadie had taken down, and the only thing covering the floor was a piece of cracked lino. She found it hard to believe that this had ever been her father’s bedroom. Her father loved luxury and style. He always wore nice suits and, although she couldn’t remember it, her mother had said that when they were on tour they’d stayed in the most wonderful hotels.
‘Looks like all these were your dad’s books,’ Sadie said, tipping her head to one side to read the titles. ‘They’re adventures mostly. I like romances. This room’s not up to much, is it? You’ve not even got anywhere to hang your clothes.’
‘I haven’t got many,’ Ruby said, nodding towards the small brown case. ‘I’m only staying for …’
Sadie looked up and smiled. ‘What’s in the case?’ she asked.
‘My clothes and things.’
‘Not that one. The big one he left under the window in the garden. Last night, my friend was just walking me to the door and we fell over it. I could have broken my neck. I got him to carry it inside. She’d have found out about it, anyway. That’s what they’re rowing about now.’
Earlier when she’d woken up and remembered the case, Ruby knew in her heart that what Granddad had told her on the prom was true, but when the door opened and the big suitcase wasn’t in the room or on the landing, she’d begun to believe that she really might just be staying for a holiday.
‘What happened?’ Sadie asked. ‘Did you have a row with your auntie?’
‘No. It’s the room. They want the room. But last night Granddad said … I was only …’
‘Do you want a hankie?’
Ruby shook her head and stared hard at the books on the shelf. Her mother had once told her that when she was about to go on stage, to take her mind off her fears, she would count the lights around the mirror in her dressing room or the pots of make-up on her dressing table. Now, Ruby counted her father’s books and tried to forget the ache in her throat.
‘Look, I’ll go and talk to her,’ Sadie said. ‘It’s not you she’s mad with. It’s him, for lying to her.’
They heard a door slam, and Sadie knelt up and looked out of the window.
‘That’s him off down the garden to feed his birds,’ she said. ‘I’ll go down and see her. Give me a few minutes, and then come down.’
As Sadie slid off the bed, the weak morning sunlight broke into the chilly room, warming her curls to the colour of Tate & Lyle syrup. When she’d gone, Ruby made the bed, pushed the potty underneath and put her suitcase on top of the white counterpane. Then she counted one elephant, two elephant, until she got to one hundred and Sadie called her name.
The big, dented suitcase stood in the middle of the kitchen’s flagged floor. Its sides were covered with labels from the seaside hotels where her parents had worked in the summer seasons before her father left.
‘I should have known, when they sent her wearing that gymslip,’ Jenny said. ‘I should have known he was lying. I mean, who’d send a child on holiday wearing school clothes?’
Sadie, who was wetting a comb under the tap, winked and turned back to the mirror. She’d changed into a pair of brown tweed trousers and a cream jumper and had metal clips and rollers in her hair. After adding a final roller, she twisted a scarf into a turban around her head and grinned.
‘You hungry?’ she asked. ‘Come on, we’ll have some breakfast.’
Ruby followed her into the living room. There was a loaf and a jar of home-made blackberry jam on the table.
‘Cut us a couple of slices,’ Sadie said, picking up the teapot from the hearth. ‘That’s the last of the jam, so don’t put too much on, and there’s no sugar.’
In the daylight the living room looked smaller. On the wall opposite the table, a large six-sided brass-framed mirror decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves hung above a sideboard. Through the mirror, she could see the reflection of the garden, the lane and the fields on the other side.
The tea was warm, but tasted stewed. At Everdeane her mother had made pobs for breakfast. Each morning, she’d buttered slices of day-old bread, cut them into little squares, soaked them in warm milk and sprinkled sugar on the top. Sometimes, if she’d managed to get extra sugar on the black market, the topping was brown and would be crunchy. After she was killed, Uncle Walt sometimes made them, but if Auntie Ethel was in the kitchen, he didn’t use much sugar.
When Jenny came in, she sat at the table and nibbled at the leftover crumbs on the breadboard. Granddad, whose clogs clattered in the silence, came in a few minutes later and began poking the fire noisily.
‘Do you want me to get some veg for dinner, Jenny, love?’ he asked. ‘Jack’s mother will be here. What should I get?’
‘Get what’s ready, Henry,’ she replied, ‘but remember we’ve another mouth to feed now.’
Granddad didn’t answer, but hurried over to the coats hanging by the front door, and as though he was a stage magician, produced Ruby’s blue ration book from his overcoat pocket.
‘There’ll be more coupons,’ he said. ‘Ethel gave me her book.’
Jenny, who had just dipped a tiny crust into the jam jar, held out her hand for the book, and Granddad clip-clopped across the flagged floor and laid it in her hand.
‘Come on, Ruby,’ he said, ‘get your coat. You can help me get the veg for dinner.’
Granddad took an old jacket and a muffler from behind the kitchen door and led the way across the yard. The garden at the back of the cottage was bounded by a hawthorn hedge. The field on the other side sloped down to the stream and then rose up again and continued along the back of the terraced houses that faced on to the main road. An Anderson shelter stood on the ground near to the toilet, with old marrow plants still growing on top. Beyond that there was a chicken run, and then a shed and a pigeon coop. A double row of fruit bushes stood in front of the pigeon cabin, and a substantial vegetable plot ran down the side of the cottage to the lane and another neatly clipped hawthorn hedge. In addition to vegetables, there were also two apple trees and an old, twisted pear tree by the gate. In the smaller front garden, Ruby could see crowns of rhubarb, clumps of herbs and the green tops of onions peeping out of every available space.
Granddad opened the shed and took out an old basket and a fork. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you how to lift the spuds and carrots.’
He stuck the fork into the ground and the ferny tops of the carrots trembled and fell. He lifted one up by the green top and shook it, gently brushing the soil from the skin with his thumb.
‘Look at that,’ he said, rubbing the dark, crumbly soil between his fingers. ‘Beautiful. We have the river down there to thank. All this was once flooded. Not many round here have such lovely stuff as this to work with.’
The door to the chicken run was open and the birds scratched and pecked around in the veg patch, dipping under the green leaves and stirring up the soft tilth with their scaly feet.
‘Love it out here they do,’ Granddad said. ‘Plenty of grubs and beetles. Do all the gardening for me, do this lot, and give me eggs as a thank you. Look. Here’s our general. He’s coming to have a look at you, Ruby. Now then, me lad,’ he said, as the large cockerel strutted down a row of beetroot tops towards them. ‘He’s a grand chap, is Monty,’ Granddad said, as the bird cocked his head to one side and eyed him cynically. ‘He’ll stand no messing from these lasses.’
As Ruby took the fork and felt the earth yield under the metal, Monty positioned himself at her side, holding one vicious claw in the air, and when she lifted a potato plant, the cockerel darted forwards, the swiftness of his movements making her flinch. Each time the fork disturbed the dark soil, she was forced to pause – bare legs purple with cold – as the cockerel stabbed at the desperate worms around her feet.
When she carried the basket of vegetables into the kitchen, the large suitcase had gone, and Sadie was dancing with an imaginary partner in the centre of the tiny room.
‘Come on, Ruby,’ she called, as she and her grandfather took off their shoes by the kitchen door. ‘I’ll teach you this dance. Look. Follow me,’ she said, twirling to a dance tune on the radio. ‘This is how the Americans dance. There was this new band on last night. They were ever so good.’
‘You’d best get on with them potatoes, Sadie,’ her mother said. ‘I’m nearly ready for them to go in. Then get changed, before you go and fetch Jack’s mother.’
‘I don’t want to go too early, Ma,’ Sadie said, wrinkling her nose, ‘or she’ll have me taking that flippin’ dog for a walk again.’
‘You promised Jack you’d look after it,’ Granddad said, washing his hands in the sink.
Jenny, who was mixing pastry on the drop-down flap of a tall, cream-painted cupboard, looked over her shoulder.
‘You can get some wood in, that coal’s rubbish,’ she said. ‘Ruby, you can empty out the veg, and get that dirty basket off the draining board.’
Ruby took the basket by its dilapidated handles and tipped the potatoes into the sink, and Granddad shuffled obediently out of the back door. He looked older and smaller than the granddad who’d been waiting in the kitchen at Everdeane the previous day; it was as though that granddad had been hung up in the wardrobe, along with his dark suit and starched white collar.
Ruby ran cold water into the sink and scrubbed the carrots carefully. On the opposite side of the room, Jenny began to roll out the pastry. Her bottom was so big that it pulled her skirt up, making it show the dimples on the backs of her knees.
‘Shall I start peeling the potatoes?’ Ruby asked.
Jenny waddled over and inspected the vegetables in the sink. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘they’re not big enough for roasters. Them carrots need to be sliced for boiling, as well.’
By twelve o’clock the food was ready, the fire in the living room was crackling and the newspaper on the table had been replaced with a white tablecloth embroidered with Tudor roses and butterflies.
Although she only lived in one of the cottages on the opposite side of the lane, Mrs Lathom arrived wearing a neat, grey, fitted coat and a cloche hat made of black felt. As Sadie took her coat and hat, she patted her taut, faded curls into place. Then putting her head on one side, she surveyed the room, taking in each detail, including the child in the crumpled gymslip.
Granddad, who had been sent upstairs to change out of his shabby trousers, was sitting at the table with his back to the fire reading the newspaper. When her beady eye fell on him, he coughed and, with a great show of rustling and folding the paper, stood up.
‘Na then, Nellie,’ he said, taking the newspaper and dropping it on the easy chair.
‘Henry,’ Mrs Lathom said, her long neck bending to inspect the crockery set out on the table.
‘Sit down, Nellie,’ Jenny said, as she bustled in carrying the dinner plates.
‘I’ll sit near the fire, if I may,’ Mrs Lathom said, slipping into the seat where Granddad had been sitting. ‘I’m suffering something awful with my neuralgia. The doctor said I mustn’t go out, not even to Mass. But I told him I must go. I’ll offer my suffering up to the Sacred Heart for the safe return of my boy, I told him.’
Granddad took the seat nearest to the door, and Sadie, who had changed into a Fair Isle sweater and a modest tweed skirt, sat next to their visitor.
Mrs Lathom fell on to the food, and it wasn’t until the plates had been collected and the room was beginning to fill with the subtle perfume of spiced plums, that she turned her unblinking attention on Ruby.
‘And who’s this?’ she asked.
‘This is our Will’s girl,’ Granddad said.
‘Was it you arriving that caused all that noise last night?’ Mrs Lathom asked. ‘When I heard that engine stop outside, I thought they were coming to tell me bad news. It took me hours to get off again.’
After several minutes, during which time everyone at the table applied themselves to the golden pastry and the sweet, luscious filling, Granddad said, ‘Aye, you might have heard us, Nellie. Train was late. We got held up. Troop trains. All of ’em full. This young soldier, as was getting on one of them trains, he stops us and asked us to post a letter. I think it’s to his girl. He gave Ruby the money for the stamp to post it for him. Have you still got that letter, Ruby?’
‘Oh, that’s romantic,’ Sadie said. ‘Where is it now?’
‘It’s in my music case,’ Ruby said. ‘Can we go and post it, Granddad?’
‘No letter from my lad,’ Nellie said. ‘Sadie’s as upset as I am. Only news we’ve had was a note to say he was fine and a photo of him in tropical kit. It was a sign. He was letting us know they was sending him to the tropics. No wonder I’m suffering, and that dog’s pining.’
‘I could tell Ruby where the postbox is,’ Sadie said. ‘She could take Bess with her. Bet you’d like that, Ruby?’
‘Our Bess wouldn’t go with a stranger,’ Nellie said, eyeing Ruby’s unruly plaits and grubby blouse.
‘Bess is friendly enough and she’s a quiet dog. Let her try,’ Sadie said. ‘I’m working. It’s dark now, when I get home. Jack wouldn’t have thought of that when he asked me to take her out. Tea?’ she asked, looking around the table. ‘You stay there, Ma, I’ll get it.’
‘Well that’s true,’ Nellie Lathom said. ‘I don’t suppose my boy would have left me, if he’d known that I would have been on my own and having to cope with that dog all this time.’
‘Well that’s settled, then,’ Granddad said. ‘Ruby can go back with you and take Bess out. You go the way we walked last night, Ruby. Bess will take you. She’s walked that way hundreds of times, and there’s a stamp machine outside the post office. So you can post that letter.’
When Sadie returned with the teapot, the talk was of the war and the comings and goings of the American troops stationed nearby. Mrs Lathom, who was the kind of person who quickly lost interest in any topic when she was not a central participant, decided it was time to leave.
‘Here’s my rations,’ she said, opening her bag and placing a twist of tea and one of sugar on the table. ‘I haven’t much. They don’t consider those of us who have our loved ones fighting, but I’ll pay my way. Now, if this child’s going to take the dog out, she’d best come with me. Then I could pop back and show Sadie that new pattern I’ve got for socks.’
Ruby collected the soldier’s letter from her room and followed Mrs Lathom to her front door. Bess was a black spaniel with intelligent eyes who, leaving her mistress without a backward glance, led the way to the main road. Once there, she turned in the direction that Ruby had walked with her granddad the night before.
In the daylight, the shops and the church hall looked smaller, and the pub that had been so warm and welcoming in the blackout was closed. Everything was still. As they climbed the railway bridges, Ruby could see a row of poplar trees in the distance, and behind them, way out to the west, the banks of cloud building, bubbling up over the Irish Sea. On the other side of the bridges, there was a second pub and another row of blacked-out shops, including a post office with a stamp machine and a postbox. She took the letter addressed to Miss Maggie Joy Blunt out of her pocket, added the stamps and dropped it in the box.
As they wandered on, Ruby imagined Maggie Joy coming down the stairs and finding the letter on the mat. She could picture the wedding and herself as guest of honour, dressed in lilac organdie, throwing orange blossom over the happy bride and groom.
Bess trotted by the Co-op and another pub with a war memorial outside. Then, with her tail wagging, she turned on to a recreation ground. A boy of about seven was kicking a football, and an older girl, in a dark coat and brightly coloured pixie hood, pushed a smaller boy on a wooden swing horse. Bess barked, and the children looked up.
‘Is that Jack Lathom’s dog?’ the girl asked. ‘What you doing with it?’
‘I’m taking her out for Mrs Lathom,’ Ruby said, as Bess dragged her over to the swing. ‘She lives near my granddad.’
‘Have you been evacuated?’ the girl asked.
‘No. I’ve come to stay with my granddad for a bit, but I usually live with my auntie.’
‘Where’s your mum and dad?’ the older boy asked.
‘Shut up, our Jimmy,’ the girl said, ‘that’s rude.’
‘My mum died in an accident,’ Ruby said, bending down to stroke the dog.
‘Throw her a stick,’ the boy said. ‘Jack used to.’
‘I’ve not to let her off the lead.’
‘Was she hit by a bomb?’ the girl asked, climbing on to the swing with the smaller child and adjusting his grey balaclava.
‘No. It was an accident in the blackout. She was hit by a taxi.’
