What's the time, Mr. Wolfe? E-Book

Tracie Podger

• Herausgeber: S&P Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This isn’t a retelling of a fairy tale. This isn’t a children’s story, either. This is a tale of fierce love, of possessiveness, and wanting. Ruby Montando cared for her grandma, went to college, worked three jobs. She was sassy and argumentative. She had to be, she’d fought all her young life just to survive. Sebastian Wolfe was a self-made man. A wolf in sheep’s clothing for sure. He wanted, and he got, usually. He had fought all his young life to survive. They were made for each other, but their needs were so very different. The age gap was so wide. Life experiences so different. It was all so very complicated. Could Ruby tame the wolf?

Leseprobe

WHAT’S THE TIME, MR. WOLFE?

TRACIE PODGER

Copyright 2023 © Tracie Podger

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents, either, are products of the author’s imagination or they are used factiously. Any reference to actual locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, to include, by not exclusive to audio or visual recordings of any description without permission from the copyright owner.

 S&P Publishing

Cover designed by Francessca Wingfield PR

Editing – Anna Bloom

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Tracie Podger

CHAPTERONE

I slammed the front door behind me, not in anger but because the stupid landlord still hadn’t repaired the lock. I gave it a good shake to be sure it wouldn’t open again.

My red hoodie was all I had to keep the chill from my bones, and I vowed that, when I could, I’d invest in a decent coat. In the meantime, all money had to go towards keeping me and Grandma fed and housed. For the millionth time, I cursed my father.

I’ll come back for you. Don’t worry, Chica, he’d said in his Spanish accent.

Except he hadn’t. He’d headed to Spain to collect some items we’d left there before we moved back to England, and he’d never returned. He hadn’t called, written, emailed, nothing. For a couple of years, I’d badgered the police to find him, but he’d simply disappeared, along with the money from the sale of our home. The home my mother left her half of when she’d died. My half of the money!

I believed my father was still alive, probably in Cuba. He wouldn’t go anywhere he couldn’t speak the language and it was cheap enough there for him to live the lifestyle he believed he deserved.

I growled out loud, scaring a couple taking their dog for a last toilet break before bedtime.

When I flicked up the hood to my hoodie and tucked in my dark curly hair, a throwback to my Spanish roots, I upped my pace, knowing I was likely to be late. The screen on my phone had cracked so badly, I couldn’t tell the time. I was stunned it was still useable. Not that I had anyone to call, other than Grandma, of course.

As I pushed through the doors directly into the kitchen, I slipped down my hood and called out, “I’m sorry, I’ll work late.” Only to receive a mouthful of abuse and waving of arms in return.

I headed to my station, the sink, which was piled high, and pulled off my hoodie, replacing it with an apron. I wished I had earphones so I could drown out the restaurant kitchen noise and lose myself in the enchanting sounds of the piano. I used to play, back in the day when we could afford a piano, but hadn’t played in years.

I set about to wash and restock the kitchen with crockery and pots and pans.

I worked solidly for three hours, continuing after service had finished. Then I darted into the restaurant to clean tables, mop the floor, and finally, the toilets. My hands ached and stung with all the chemicals and products I mixed. Even though I wore gloves for the worst of the jobs, the skin on my hands cracked and my nails bent with weakness. I bit them, not from habit, but simply because I couldn’t find a nail clipper anywhere and it was quicker to bite off the length.

“Ruby, here,” I heard and I turned to see Diego with a carrier bag in his hand. I smiled at him.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I said, although my stomach growled at the scent of hot food.

“Yes, I do. Now take it and get home. Tell Grandma I asked after her.”

Diego my boss, was a friend of my grandma’s, and I guessed that was the only reason I had my job, despite my constant lateness. His father had started the restaurant, and he’d taken over a few years prior. He was a good man, a doting husband and father, and I often envied his children, wishing I had someone like him.

I took the bag from him and headed back into the kitchen. Without hanging around, I swapped my apron for my hoodie and left by the back door.

It was dark and drizzly. A mist hung in the air, the kind that found every tiny hole or parting of thread in the weave of material and seeped its way in. I shivered uncontrollably all the way home. While I stood on the pavement and fished in my jeans pocket for my key, a large black car sped past. Not only was it roaring along a street of residential properties way too fast, but the driver also got close enough to the kerb to cause a puddle to wash over me like a bloody wave. I turned and screamed abuse at the retreating vehicle.

Much to my amusement, the vehicle stopped, its red lights bright in the mist. Much to my dismay, the white reverse lights came on.

I stood my ground, though. The arsehole had soaked me and was going to get a piece of my mind. As the car levelled up alongside and the rear window started to lower, I gave the occupant both barrels.

“Not only are you a bloody arsehole for speeding on this road, but you’ve ruined my dinner and my bloody clothes. This…” I said, grabbing at the red hoody, “This is the only bloody dry thing I had to wear tomorrow!” I was aware of how many times I said, ‘bloody’ and I didn’t think it was near enough.

My abuse came to a halt as the window lowered completely. Sitting in the passenger seat was a man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He smiled, his teeth a bright white.

“I’m so sorry. My driver lacked his usual concentration there,” he said, and his voice was like liquid chocolate. His low tone vibrated through my stomach as his words washed over me, soothing and… tasty.

I blinked a few times, then let my usual bolshy and obnoxious self come back. “What are you going to do about this?” I said, dumping the sodden carried bag of food on his bonnet.

“I’ll replace it all.”

“Good, leave it at my front door.”

I turned and walked up the garden path to my door, grumbling as I did.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, loudly, as I tried to turn the key, getting it stuck.

“Shall I help?” I heard.

The man had left his car and was standing behind me. He’d approached so silently; I hadn’t heard him. I sucked in a breath.

“Don’t sneak up on people, it’s rude. No, you can’t help, unless you’re the bloody landlord of this shitshow of a property.”

“This shitshow of a property?” he laughed as he spoke.

I spun on my heel. “I’m not entirely sure what you find funny, and I don’t appreciate you on my property. You owe me dinner, that’s all you need to do. Fetch,” I said, waving my arm as if throwing a ball for a dog.

His eyes widened at my cheek and his smile slipped. For a split second a little quiver of fear slid over my skin. However, his smirk was quick to form again.

“Of course, ma’am. Your dinner is already on the way. I believe it will be here in ten minutes.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, turning back to the door and finally getting it unlocked. I kicked at it until it opened.

“As for your property, I own the company that owns this house. And many others in this street. I see you’re having problems. I’ll make sure someone attends tomorrow.”

Without another word or backwards glance, he walked back down the path and slid into his car. The car pulled away from the kerb silently and carried on in the direction it had originally taken. I stood, open-mouthed, and stared after him, until, once he’d turned the corner, I raised two fingers to him.

“Is that you, Ruby?”

“It is, Grandma. I got splashed by a puddle, so I’ll just change quick. Diego sends his regards.” I raced up the stairs and into my cold bedroom. I did everything in a rush, not because I wanted to be back down in a hurry, but because the heating didn’t work, and it was bloody freezing. It was a drill now; clothes off, new ones on, with as little body exposed as possible.

As I walked back down the stairs, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, puzzled. A restaurant courier stood holding a brown paper bag.

“Deliver For You,” he said, either announcing his courier company name or missing the ‘y’ off the word ‘deliver.’

I reached out and took the bag. “Where is this from?” I asked, looking inside to see silver tubs of diving smelling food.

“Yantze. Didn’t you order it? This is the right address,” he asked, showing me his delivery note.

Girl in the red hoodie, 78 Queen Anne Cottages and then the rest of the address was printed. I laughed.

“Yeah, thanks.”

I kicked the door shut. So, he had ordered me food, and from a rather nice Chinese that I could never have afforded myself.

“Are you hungry, Grandma? I have food.”

CHAPTERTWO

The following morning, as I made Grandma her breakfast and sipped a cup of tea, I pondered on the stranger. There was something compelling about him, but also scary. I shivered as I thought of him and wondered about the authenticity of his statement, unable to decide if I should write a list of faults in the property, just in case he owned it and was going to send someone. He had made good on replacing my food, so…

After I’d settled Grandma back in her bed in the living room, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote all the things wrong with the property. The leaking guttering that meant Grandma couldn’t use her bedroom upstairs because it was damp and mouldy. The heating and hot water not working full time, how the lock on the front door was sticking and that it didn’t shut without slamming and causing the surrounding plaster to crack. I gave good reasons why these things should be repaired. I’d never missed a rent payment in the two years Grandma and I had lived there. I nodded to myself once I’d finished. If a repairman didn’t turn up, I’d be calling at his offices, for sure.

I was about to head to college when there was a knock at the door. For the second time, I was stunned. Standing on the step was a maintenance man wearing a t-shirt with the landlord’s logo on it.

“You have problems?” he asked.

“Lots, I hope you’re here for the day,” I replied, stepping aside, and letting him in, knowing I wouldn’t make college.

While I made him a cup of tea, he read all the faults I wanted looking at.

“Okay, I was told to fix everything needed, regardless. But I’ll have to call a plumber for the boiler.” He looked around. “I can’t believe you’ve been living like this. You have complained, haven’t you?”

“Many times and have been ignored many times. I was going to withhold my rent this month if I didn’t get a response.”

I’d already spoken to the housing advice officer at my college and although they advised against withholding rent, they had said I could deduct any costs if I felt the landlord wasn’t repairing what they were legally obliged to. Of course, they had also said I’d need to get an agreement for that, but I was pig-headed. I had planned to find a repairman, pay him, but then send the bill to the landlord for effect.

I sat with Grandma sipping tea and listening to her stories of the past, stories I’d heard thousands of times but ones that kept her alive as far as I was concerned, while the repairman did this thing. A couple of hours later, a boiler engineer joined him, along with someone in a suit.

“Ruby, this is James. He’s our surveyor. I’m not happy about the mould. It’s black mould, and that’s dangerous,” he said to us both.

“It would have to be tested to be verified,” James replied.

“Bollocks to that, you know damn well I know what I’m talking about,” the maintenance guy said.

It seemed a row was about to happen between them.

“If it’s black mould, I want rehousing. My Grandma has dementia, she’s not well. I don’t want her exposed to anything dangerous. I’m at college and I work three jobs to pay for this place,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

I’d heard of black mould. It was no wonder Grandma constantly had lung and chest infections.

“If you don’t sort this, you can tell your boss I’ll be going to the press.”

James smiled at me, a false pacifying smile, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” he said, but I highly doubted he would. “Let’s get sorted what we can, and I’ll report back,” he added, turning his attention back to the repairman.

With a nod to me, James left.

“He will, you know. The boss has told us to do whatever it is you want.”

“The boss?”

“Mr. Wolfe. Sebastian Wolfe is his name. Never met him myself, though. He doesn’t speak to us lowly operatives. How do you know him?”

“I don’t… not really.” I hesitated with my answer. I didn’t want the repairman to think I didn’t know Mr. Wolfe in case he decided not to take the instruction to do ‘whatever was needed’ seriously. Equally, I didn’t want him to think we were best friends, either.

“No one really knows him, from what I understand,” the repairman said.

I wasn’t particularly interested in talking about Mr. Wolfe, and I certainly wasn’t interested in having a conversation with the man meant to be working. I’d offered him tea and biscuits and now I wanted him to get on with fixing the door. He’d already done the scratching under his chin and sighing thing I’d expected, talking about how we needed new windows as if he was a salesman and I’d be paying for them.

“Well, one of us has work to do. So, I’ll leave you to it,” I said, heading into the living room and Grandma. I had books I could go through to keep up with my college work.

I could hear him chuckle, and I was sure he called me spunky! I screwed my nose at the thought.

I sat with Grandma while she watched her game shows and clapped along when she knew the correct answer. I knew there would come a time when I’d need help and the daily carer, Monica, who came to us already wouldn’t be enough. Monica and I had talked about care homes, but I wasn’t ready, and Grandma sure wasn’t, either. We were managing, even if I was exhausted all the damn time.

I picked up a college book. I’d flunked out of school, scraping through basic Maths and English. I’d had too many other issues to deal with; a missing father and money for one, plus a sick relative to care for. It was only when a sympathetic teacher discovered my situation one day that I got a place in college. I wanted to be an architect. I loved buildings and structure, but I needed some serious studying and resitting of exams before I could get into university.

As I read and wrote, Grandma answered the most random questions on a quiz show.

Some time later, the repairman announced he’d done all he could. The boilerman followed shortly after, telling me that although he’d got the heating and hot water to work, I needed a new boiler. I asked him to inform the owner of the property since I wouldn’t be replacing it myself.

With the men gone and a mess left in their wake, I set about to make some dinner. Well, I reheated the last of the Chinese we hadn’t eaten the previous evening.

As I sat at the table and ate, I thought about Mr. Wolfe. His piercing blue eyes and skin tone suggested Nordic roots, but his dark wavy hair didn’t fit. I chuckled as I remembered I thought his teeth were so perfectly straight and white. Why I noticed them, I wasn’t sure. I raised my spoon before taking the last mouthful in salute of him. A silent thank you for a delicious meal that I’d never have been able to afford without him.

* * *

I had settled Grandma in bed. She’d pulled her blankets up to her chin and smiled with teary eyes.

“I need to go in a home,” she said, and for the first time in a long while, her voice had clarity. It stopped me in my tracks.

“Sorry, Grandma?” I asked, wanting her to repeat her sentence.

“You look just like my granddaughter, Ruby,” she replied, and I smiled at her.

“You’ve said.”

“She’s lovely, is my granddaughter.”

With that, I left her bedroom and sniffed back tears that threatened to fall. There were days when she knew me, but in the evenings, when her brain was tired, she’d forget. It was called ‘Sundowning’ and is common with dementia. As the days came to a close, the victim tired and their memory clouded further.

Victim. Monica, who the dementia charity had sent, used to chastise me for using that word, but it was exactly what I thought of Grandma. Dementia was a terrible illness, and she was a victim. She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t sought it out, it had chosen her. But every now and again, like half a minute before, the cloud in her brain would clear briefly and the old Grandma would reappear.

I angrily wiped at my tears knowing my eyes would be red rimmed. I was an ugly crier, for sure. I’d always longed to be the Disney Princess type, one that could just dab a delicate piece of material to the corner of their eyes. No, me? I’d have a red nose, snot, and blotchy cheeks. And if I really got going, puffy lips and eyelids to boot.

As I sat at the kitchen table, I slid one of my college books towards me. I wasn’t in the mood but knew I had to catch up on a day missed. I had an assignment to hand in. Instead, I moved to my drawing pad and flipped it open.

All the drawings were of buildings. All different types from my dream cottage in the woods, a residential home (the one I’d buy with my lottery win so my grandma and others like her could live in luxury), to the skyscraper in the city.

I turned to my dream cottage in the woods.

Solitude should have been my middle name, and I wondered if my fondness for all things dark and quiet were because my childhood was so loud. My parents argued like the proverbial cat and dog. There were always parties and drunkenness. They often left drugs just in reach of childish hands, and houses, not homes, were a constant mess. It was no wonder my mother eventually died. Why I hankered after a father that facilitated her drug and alcohol abuse was beyond me.

My cottage in the woods was peaceful, surrounded by nature and the protection of trees—the lungs of the earth, I called them, and ones that cleansed. It was the cleansing that I needed for a long time.

At my birth, drugs and alcohol had flooded my system, not that I remember, of course. As a child, I had ingested cocaine and was rushed to the hospital. Social Services was non-existent back then, or they certainly were in my case. It was only when my grandmother intervened, I started to live a normal life. I’ll forever be grateful to her. If she hadn’t, I’d be dead, too.

As I sat with my drawing pad, I drew internal rooms. I wanted a large kitchen to be the heart of the home. I planned Grandma’s room and her ensuite bathroom knowing she’d never use it. And unless I got my money, I’d never build it, either.

I was so engrossed in my fantasy home that I when I heard a knock on the door, it startled me. I picked up my phone automatically, knowing the shattered screen wouldn’t show me the clock clearly enough. I frowned.

I crept to the front door and listened. A second knock came, more forceful than the first. I pulled the front door open fast.

“What?” I demanded before I clocked who was standing there.

“And a good evening to you,” he answered.

“Huh?”

“Good evening,” he repeated.

Standing on my doorstep with a brown paper bag smelling of hot food was Mr. Wolfe.

“What’s the time, Mr. Wolfe?” I demanded.

“What’s the time?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“A simple question.” I placed my hands on my hips to show I wasn’t messing around.

Mr. Wolfe looked at his watch. “Just gone ten.”

“Do you think that’s an appropriate time to knock on my door? I could be in my pyjama’s, or in bed.”

I grew frustrated at the smirk that grew across his face and once again, noticed his perfect teeth.

“I hadn’t realised the time. Please, accept my apologies.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I was working and hungry and wondered if you might like to join me for dinner.”

“It’s too late for me to leave the house,” I said, and as much as I didn’t want to, I looked over my shoulder.

“Your grandmother is sick, I hear?”

“Well, I don’t know who you heard that from and I’d ask you to tell them to keep their nose out of my business, although I assume it’s your staff reporting back. Why?”

“Because I asked them to. Now, this is getting cold, would you like to join me in eating it? I’m happy to sit on your doorstep, if you’d prefer.”

Although I had already eaten, whatever was in the bag was calling to me and I wasn’t wealthy enough to turn down a free meal. I stepped aside and let Mr. Wolfe enter.

Squeezing past him, I led the way to the kitchen. He placed the bag onto the kitchen table and picked up my drawing book before I could get to it myself.

“This is really good,” he said, his voice rising slightly, as if in surprise.

I held out my hand to take the book back. “A silly dream,” I said.

Mr. Wolfe stepped back, taking the book with him. He flicked through the pages. “This is really good. You have a talent for architectural drawing, Ruby.”

I didn’t recall giving him my name the night before, but I doubted it would be hard to find. I was on the rental agreement. Something stirred inside me, a flutter in my stomach, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t used to being praised other than by my technical drawing lecturer, who also believed I had a talent.

“Is that what you want to do?” He finally closed the book and handed it back to me.

“I’d like to be an architect, eventually. That’s providing I don’t lose my jobs, or my landlord puts my rent up and I can’t afford to go to uni.”

I made an effort to smile slightly. I didn’t want him to think I was a total cow. Smiling wasn’t something I did often. Grandma used to remind me.

He laughed, and the sound startled me. It was a gravelly laugh, and one that hit me at my very core.

“Let’s hope that horrid landlord of yours remembers that. Now, shall we eat? I’m hungry,” he said, flashing his teeth.

He set about to empty the bag, putting delicious smelling tin foil dishes on the table. I grabbed a couple of plates and forks. When he has done, he indicated to a chair.

“What?” I asked, already sitting and opening lids.

“May I?”

His level of politeness startled me. It was a complete contrast to his looks. He had that alpha-arsehole vibe going on. I waved to the chair as I took a mouthful of food.

“This is gorgeous,” I said, remembering to at least cover my mouth as I spoke with it full of food.

“Japanese. One of my favourites.”

For a moment, while we continued to help ourselves, we were silent, and I could study him. He was a very attractive man, older than me, obviously, and… I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about him. Power. Money. Good looks. Maybe not that, but something else. Something predatory that had me intrigued, although the fluttering wasn’t masking the red flags waving beside them.

“This is odd, don’t you think?” I said.

“What is?”

“Us. Sitting here eating when we don’t know each other at all. In fact, if you intend to kill me, at least I’m thankful, I’ll go with a belly full of nice food. Just don’t piss off and leave my grandma on her own, yeah?”

He chuckled, a deep throaty sound. “I promise to call the authorities and take care of Grandma.”

“But not promise not to kill me?” I laughed, but then stopped abruptly. I didn’t know the man sitting in my house and for a moment, nerves for the better of me.

“I promise not to kill you. Is that better?” He laid his fork down and smiled at me.

“You must have a great dentist,” I blurted out.

He frowned. “A…?”

“Sorry, that was a dumb comment. You have great teeth,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly but knowing my cheeks were flaming with embarrassment.

He stared at me. “All the better to eat…” He tailed off, not finishing his sentence, and I swallowed hard.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “Well, that was lovely, but I think I need to… you know? Catch up with college and… whatever.”

He nodded and smiled but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thank you for your company and joining me for dinner.”

I wanted to stay in the kitchen, but I also didn’t want to be rude. I rose and followed him to the front door. “I appreciated the meal. Thank you.”

He nodded once more, and I pulled open the front door. It was cold and drizzling out. A low-lying mist had formed. He slipped on his overcoat and flipped up the collar, tucking his chin inside.

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t look back as he walked down the path and out into the street. I stood for a moment, watching as he disappeared into the fog, and then closed the door. I leaned against it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.

The words… All the better to eat... ran through my mind as I cleared up, causing my core to pulse with want and need. I hoped the missing part of his sentence was you with.

Mr. Wolfe, I thought, a man who would most certainly live up to his name.

CHAPTERTHREE

The following day, I settled Grandma after breakfast, waited for Monica to arrive, and then rushed off to the first of my jobs. I cleaned a bar, a shady, shitty establishment, that often had me worried if I needed regular Tetanus injections. Once I’d done that, I headed to college for an afternoon lecture. All my tutors were aware of my situation and most gave me some space and leeway, most. One didn’t, and it was that one I had to sit in front of that afternoon. Mr. Jenkins and I had a mutual dislike of each other that was immediate. I don’t know why, but anyone who targeted me, who humiliated me, wasn’t getting a shred of my respect. On my first day, I happened to move my watch on my arm. He made me stand in front of the entire class, remove it, while asking me if I was bored and clock watching. I had a fucking itch, that was all!

When he, or the school, then lost my watch, I got mad, and that hadn’t helped my cause. Since then, I snarled, and he bullied.

“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Montando.” He knew my name wasn’t pronounced as he said it, but he didn’t try and get it right. His three syllables were another slur, in my opinion.

“Trust me, I didn’t want to,” I replied, sliding into my seat. I wasn’t late. Two other pupils had followed me in, and neither received his snark.

He ignored me for the rest of the lesson, which wasn’t ideal as I hadn’t understood the lecture. I sighed, switching off, knowing I’d have to find my own way of learning the crap science I wouldn’t need once I sat my final exams. All I needed were the right grades to get me into university. I should have done better at school. I could have, but life had other plans for me. Now I was catching up; I was two years older than most in the college, but I was determined. Maybe it was time for me to reach out to my counsellor again. I could do with an advocate on my side. Tears pricked at my eyes, making me angrier. I hated my weakness as I saw it. I hated having no one, but I didn’t want anyone, either. I didn’t trust, and that made me difficult, I was sure.

Before I was aware of the time, the class had finished. I gathered by unopened science book and placed it back in my bag. As I stood to leave, Mr. Jenkins asked me to wait. I rolled my eyes, not helping matters.

“I’m concerned about you, Ruby. You’re falling behind a lot.” He licked his lips, and I squirmed, keeping my distance from him.

“Yeah, well, I have plenty on my plate, and your constant criticism of me doesn’t make me want to participate,” I replied, ballsy.

His eyes opened wide. “No one is forcing you to retake this class.”

“I am, Mr. Jenkins. I’m forcing myself because it would be super easy just to quit. I know I’m falling behind. I don’t understand and I don’t want to ask you for help. I’ll catch up.” I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder.

“If you need… additional help...” his gaze travelled over me and made my skin crawl.

It was my turn to widen my eyes. “I’ll manage on my own, thank you. But I will let the head of college know about your kind offer.”

I left the room fuming, and also knowing I couldn’t report him. He hadn’t technically done anything wrong other than make me feel very uncomfortable.

Thankfully, my last lecture was my favourite. Technical drawing.

“Ruby, one day you’re going to design a house for me,” I heard. I looked up and into the face of a smiling Mr. Trent. “Super, well done.”

“I think I can do better,” I replied.

“I’m sure you can. We can always do better, but sometimes we have to stop fiddling and find satisfaction. Put your pencil down. Close your eyes and walk through this building. What do you see? What do you feel? If it all adds up, then that’s the best you can do on this project.”

I did as he asked and imagined myself walking home from work. I pictured arriving at a gateway in a lane that led me onto a pathway that wove its way through trees. I could hear the birdsong, smell the fallen autumn leaves. I felt a chill as if someone had walked over my grave and I shuddered, not understanding why. I breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of earth and foliage. And then I glimpsed, in my mind of course, a figure shadowing me. I sped up, running through the woods, trying to look over my shoulder as I did, gasping for air and holding onto my bag as if it contained precious possessions.

I woke with a start and gasp. The classroom was empty. Mr. Trent looked up from his desk and smiled at me.

“What the...?”

“You fell asleep. I guess your imaging was so lovely that you wanted to dream it as well,” he said, chuckling.

I didn’t tell him it wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare. I was so embarrassed at nodding off, however.

“I can’t believe I did that.” I knew I’d be mocked by my fellow students the next time I saw them. “And now I’m late.”

I rushed from my desk.

“Ruby, wait,” Mr. Trent called out. “It’s okay. You were tired. I imagine life is a little hectic right now. I’d rather a half hour of quality time with you than an hour and a half of you tired.”

That was why I loved Mr. Trent as a teacher. He was one of a kind and if I could have hugged him, I would have. I smiled my thanks and left. I was late for my shift at Diego’s, as usual.

* * *

“I am buying you a watch, Ruby!” Diego shouted from the stove.

“I fell asleep in class.”

He turned to look at me and gave me a small smile and a nod. I was on the till that day. I covered any job going, grateful to have one. I whipped off my hoodie and pulled a restaurant polo shirt over my t-shirt. I tied my hair neatly in a bun and headed out front.

“Thanks, hun,” I heard, and Cathy gave a kiss to my cheek as she rushed off.

She was another one of Diego’s charity cases, as we called ourselves. I smiled and waved. She was a single mum of two and, like me, did all the jobs she could to pay the bills.

I started to layout the order details in time they came in, knowing those would be the people likely to pay first and I wouldn’t have to flick around the paperwork finding the right diner.

The evening seemed to fly by. I loved being busy. It gave me less time to think about all the things that weighed heavily on me. My Grandma’s ever-increasing needs were getting beyond my capability and Monica, and I needed to sit down and have a chat about it.

“Excuse me, Miss, this is the wrong amount,” I heard in a not too pleasant tone.

Dragged back from my thoughts, I looked up. A woman stood by my side and held out a bill.

“Have you checked with your waiter?” I asked.

“Do I need to? Isn’t that your job?” she replied, snarkily.

“I don’t know what you ordered, only what has been written down. That’s the amount owed for what was written down.” I took the bill from her hand.

“You have a terrible attitude,” she said. I smiled; she wasn’t wrong.

Before I could respond, Harry intervened. He took the bill from my hand and headed out back. While we waited in silence, she smirked at me. I shrugged my shoulders in a ‘and?’ kind of way.

“Just pay the bill, Amelia.” I didn’t need to look to see who had spoken.

“It’s not correct, Sir.”

Mr. Wolfe stepped into my line of sight. “Are you stalking me?” I asked.

“No, I wasn’t aware that you worked here.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. He pulled out a credit card and placed it on the desk beside me, not once diverting his gaze from mine.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of food was your thing,” I said, taking his card and inserting it. I handed him the machine so he could input his security number. He handed the machine to Miss Wide-Eyed-And-Annoyed. I smiled at her as she took it. “Would you like to add a tip?” I asked.

She huffed and keyed in his security number. I wondered why she would know it. She didn’t look his type, but then, I didn’t know him to know what his type would be. And she’d called him sir.

Mr. Wolfe exchanged a twenty-pound note for his card just as Harry returned. “It’s correct, I’m afraid. You ordered the...”

“It’s sorted,” I said, cutting him off.

The woman looked down at her feet. “Would you like me to get the door for you?” I asked her, pushing my luck really, but I was pissed off that Mr. Wolfe was in my place of work, and I wasn’t sure why it should annoy me. He was allowed to eat wherever he wanted.

She walked out. Mr. Wolfe chuckled and, again, that sound travelled through my stomach. “You are extremely feisty, Ruby. I like that. I might have an opportunity to discuss with you. I’ll be in touch.”

Before I could reply, he, too, left.

“Who the fuck is that?” Harry asked, licking his lips. I slapped his chest. “He’s super... alpha and yummy. Please tell me he’s your boyfriend.”

“I don’t do boyfriends and he’s too old.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---