A Rare Ruby (17 page)

‘How’s your mum managing to get coal?’ asked Beth as she and Ruby were taking a stroll round the market. Ruby was looking for anything that had been thrown away behind the barrows, even the old newspapers after she had read them were useful when cut into squares for the lav.

‘Not good. She sends Tom out looking for any bits that might have fallen off the cart, but there’s always someone walking behind with a dust pan and brush sweeping up any that’s been dropped. And he said he’s seen fights break out round the coal carts. The biggest trouble is trying to get the washing dry to pay the extra for coal and rent.’

‘I feel really bad about that,’ said Beth.

‘Why should you? It’s not your fault that old man put our rent up.’

‘I feel I’m a bit to blame.’

‘Well, you mustn’t. No news about anything for Dad then?’

‘No, but I’m trying to persuade Mr Thompson to get someone to wash the glasses. Do you think you could get your dad to come to the pub? I’d make sure he got home safe.’

‘I don’t know. Would he have to be out late at night?’

‘No. They could be left till the morning.’

‘I could ask Mum. Thanks, Beth.’

‘Don’t thank me till it’s settled.’

‘It’s a bit cold, I think we’d better make our way back, and I’ve got to deliver Mrs Bell’s washing.’

‘I hate those buildings. Let me treat you to a couple of apples then your mum can make one of her lovely pies.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I’m not taking no for an answer.’ She was rummaging in her purse. ‘Tuppence, you say?’ She handed the man the money. ‘There, take them home. I’m sure your mother will work wonders with those.’ She gave the apples to Ruby.

‘Thanks, Beth.’

Christmas was almost on them and at last they had managed to get Thomas Jenkins to go to the pub and wash glasses.

‘I hope that man’s not doing this out of charity,’ said Mary Jenkins when Beth first approached her about it.

‘No. It’s near Christmas and we’re getting very busy and we’re too tired at night to stand washing glasses.’

‘Well, just as long as you’re sure.’

‘If you like I’ll come along in the morning and take him back with me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s all right.’

‘This is very kind of you, Beth.’

For Ruby, on Saturday, the time seemed to go on for ever. She was desperate to get home and find out how her dad had got on with his first morning at the pub. Oh, please let it have gone well! If it worked she’d be eternally grateful to Beth. Now she didn’t see so much of Elsie it was nice to wander round the market with Beth, pushing the pram and exchanging chatter; it was almost like having a sister.

All morning Florrie had been her usual crude self. She was telling them all about the bloke she’d met in the pub the night before. She said they were banging away behind some houses when one of his kids came up and said, ‘Dad, yer dinner’s ready.’

Everybody screamed with laughter.

‘So what did he say to that?’ asked one of her friends.

‘He told ’em he’d be in when he’d finished his afters.’ Again everybody thought that was hilarious, but Ruby didn’t. She felt sorry for the wife who probably had loads of kids to feed.

‘Did he pay yer?’

‘Course. Yer don’t think I stand there with me frock round me neck and me drawers round me ankles fer nothing, do yer? It’s too bloody cold.’

‘How much d’yer get?’

‘Enough.’

Ruby tried to ignore the filthy chatter and concentrate on her work.

As soon as she’d finished, she hurried home. ‘Well?’ she burst out on opening the kitchen door. ‘How did you get on, Dad?’

‘Not bad.’ He looked different; he was sitting up and smiling. ‘Didn’t break any. He’s a nice bloke, that Mr Thompson. Always liked him.’

Ruby thought her heart would burst. Her father was at last, after all these years, going out to work.

‘Beth came and collected him and brought him home,’ said Mary Jenkins, standing next to him with a proud smile on her face.

‘And he gave me a bottle of beer to have with me dinner.’

‘Don’t let old Cox see that,’ said Ruby. ‘He’ll want half.’

‘I’m taking his tea up to him. I don’t want him down here putting a damper on things.’

All evening her father sat and told them what he’d done. ‘That baby’s a dear little chap.’

Ruby couldn’t believe it. This was the first time in years they had heard him hold a conversation. He sounded so happy. ‘Are you going tomorrow, Dad?’ she asked.

‘Yes, love. But only on Saturday, Sunday and Monday mornings and it’ll only be till Christmas.’

Ruby smiled. ‘It’s a start, Dad. I can take you up on Sundays.’

‘Thanks.’

For the first time in months, when Ruby went to bed, she knew she would sleep soundly. Even though this job was only temporary, it could be the start of her father living again and, who knew, he might be able to start providing for his family. Then her mother wouldn’t have to take in washing, and she wouldn’t be permanently exhausted.

Ruby’s thoughts went onto Ernie. What sort of a Christmas would he have?

 

It was Christmas Eve morning; Mary Jenkins had been up since five finishing off the last of the ironing. She hadn’t got any washing today. Thomas was at the pub, like Ruby, working, and Tom was out delivering washing. Mary prayed her customers would have enough money to pay her so she could do some shopping. She was now standing at the kitchen table wrapping up a pair of socks she had knitted for Tom from a jumper she’d unpicked. Ruby had bought two jumpers from a jumble sale, they were only a few pence, they weren’t fit enough to wear but the wool had come in useful. Ruby had gloves and Tom had socks; she had even knitted her husband a nice scarf he could wear to work. She smiled to herself. What a lovely phrase that was, her husband at work. She knew it wouldn’t last as Mr Thompson had told him it was only up till Christmas, but that didn’t matter. It was a start. She held up the socks. She hoped they would like their presents, but she really couldn’t see Tom wearing them outside the house. When she’d told Milly what she had done, Milly had given her some greaseproof paper to wrap them in. It would have been better if the wool had been a more neutral shade, but they wouldn’t mind everything in bright red, at least they would be warm.

The banging from above made her jump. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. What was he doing? The banging started again; this time it was louder and more intense. Was he ill? Mary Jenkins realised she hadn’t heard her landlord moving about. He hadn’t looked that good when she took his breakfast up to him. The banging started again and she left her parcel-wrapping and went upstairs.

She gently knocked on his door. He didn’t yell at her to come in as he always did. She slowly pushed the door open and to her surprise found him lying on the floor.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He groaned. ‘I feel ill.’

‘Do you want me to get you a doctor?’

‘No. Just help me get into bed.’

With a struggle Mary Jenkins helped him to his feet and into his bedroom. She knew every part of this sparsely furnished room, as every week she had to clean it and change his sheets.

He fell onto the bed. Mary could see he was very pale and the sweat was glistening on his brow.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Water.’

‘I really think you should have a doctor.’

‘I said no, woman. Just get me a drink.’

Mary rushed to his tiny scullery and filled a glass. She noted that the glass had the pub’s name on it. ‘Is there anything else?’

He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I’ll bang on the floor if I want anything.’

As Mary slowly made her way down the stairs it was with mixed feelings. Part of her wanted to sing and dance: if he didn’t get up tomorrow they could be on their own at Christmas. That was a lovely thought. But she also knew he could have her up and down those stairs day and night. What if he died? What would happen to them? Could they be thrown out of their home? As far as she knew he didn’t have any relations, but in those sort of cases, there was always someone who could come out of the woodwork. Mary also knew that even if he were ill she couldn’t let Ruby go up to him. For a while she had been worried about his attentions towards her daughter. Ruby had grown into a lovely young woman and Mary knew he watched her every move. She would kill him if he ever touched her.

When Mary stood at the table downstairs she found herself remembering last Christmas when they had had Beth staying, and how much difference her money had made. She also remembered how ill she had felt. It had taken all her strength to get out of bed that Christmas morning. Thank goodness she had managed to let it slip past everybody by saying she just wanted a rest.

 

Ruby was worried to see her mother running up and down stairs every time Mr Cox banged on the floor. ‘I’ll go up next time.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ she said quickly. ‘He don’t want you to.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll find out what he wants then you can take it up.’

Ruby looked at her mother. She looked harassed.

‘Ain’t he got a relation or something?’ asked her father. ‘If he needs waiting on hand and foot it should be one of his own.’

‘I asked him that, he said there ain’t no one. Felt a bit sorry for him really. Must be awful to be on your own with no friends or family.’

‘None at all?’ asked Thomas.

Mary shook her head.

‘He ain’t the sort of man you’d like to meet on a dark night,’ said Ruby.

‘He ain’t the sort of bloke I’d like to run into in the light,’ said Tom.

‘Now, young man, don’t be so cheeky.’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said with a big grin.

Christmas was very quiet without Beth and Danny. The paper chains they had made last year were hanging from the ceiling, although many of them were squashed and looked bedraggled. The four of them sat quietly round the table and finished off their dinner that this year consisted of a small piece of bacon that had been boiling all morning. Ruby sat thinking about the previous year and all the happiness and the laughter.

Fortunately Mr Cox settled down and was quiet for most of the evening. The beer Thomas had brought him might have helped.

‘We should play a game or something,’ said Ruby after they had cleared away the tea things.

‘Wish Beth and Danny still lived here,’ said Tom.

‘So do I, son,’ said her father. ‘She always had a smile and that boy of hers is a little cracker. D’you know he gives me a big smile whenever I walk in the pub.’

At that moment Ruby desperately wanted to be like Beth, smiling and happy. ‘I don’t think she’s working tonight, would you like me to go and ask her to come here this evening?’

‘That would be very nice,’ said her mother. ‘But I can’t see her leaving that Mr Thompson on his own.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Ruby sat and gazed into the fire; unconsciously she rubbed her heels.

‘Stop scratching those chilblains,’ said her mother. ‘You’ll have ’em turn septic.’

‘They ain’t nearly as bad this year. It’s very warm in the ironing room.’

At last it was time for bed. As Ruby lay down she thought: That’s another year nearly over. She closed her eyes tight. If there is a God above, please make things go right for us during 1921.

‘Ruby?’

‘Yes, Tom.’

‘It wasn’t a very nice Christmas, was it?’

‘No, love.’

‘I hope Mr Cox gets up soon.’

‘Why is that?’

He sniffed. ‘I don’t like to see Mum running up and down the stairs.’

‘Neither do I. But it won’t be for ever. Besides, you’ve been helping her.’

‘I know.’ He turned over. ‘I hate that man.’

 

After the New Year, to everyone’s relief Mr Cox was up and about. He said he’d caught a chill.