All My Tomorrows (30 page)

Ruby stood in the doorway and looked in delight at the single iron bed, the neat little dressing table with a frilly skirt hiding the drawers, the comfortable armchair beside the gas fire and the pretty curtains that matched the eiderdown. ‘It’s lovely,’ she breathed.

‘It’s all yours for as long as you want it,’ said Rita with a broad grin. ‘Now I need to get to bed too. I’m due to start my shift at the fire station at five-thirty, so I’ll see you when you get back from work tomorrow.’

‘What’s the routine here in the mornings?’ Ruby asked anxiously.

Rita rolled her eyes. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something. Breakfast is usually porridge, and the first one up gets it warming on the stove along with the kettle. We drink a lot of tea in this house,’ she added with a grin, ‘so the kettle is always on the hob. Lunch is usually at twelve or thereabouts, and tea’s at six, but again, it all depends on your shifts. If you write them down and leave them on the kitchen table, one of us will make sure your food’s kept hot for when you get in.’

‘Ta ever so, Rita.’

‘Sleep well,’ she replied, giving her a swift hug before she ran up the stairs to the top floor.

Ruby stepped into the room and closed the door. There was a key in the lock, but she didn’t turn it. She would be safe here.

Chapter Sixteen

RUBY WAS HAVING
the running dream again, but this time it wasn’t just Ray chasing her, but his uncles and brothers as well – and Harold. She knew that if they caught her, she would live long enough only to suffer great terror and pain before they snuffed out her very existence. So she ran, as fast as her bare feet could carry her over the rough ground. Her heart was thudding with fear, for she could hear their angry voices and their pounding footsteps gaining on her – and then she was flying, over the jagged edge of the white cliffs, and plunging with stomach-churning swiftness towards a black abyss.

In the instant before she hit the bottom she woke and reared up, eyes wide with terror, pulse racing as she fought to breathe. There was no abyss and no pursuers, just the pearly grey of a dawn sky shedding light between the open curtains. She slumped back into the soft pillows. It was only a nightmare, but the vestiges of it clung to her in cobweb tendrils, the sweat of fear still cold on her skin, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

As Ruby waited for her heart to stop thudding, and the shadows of the nightmare to fade to nothing, she watched the sky lighten above the rooftops, and heard the first raucous screeching of the seagulls. She was in her lovely little bedroom at Beach View, safe and snug on this brand-new day, and she hugged that thought like a precious gift.

Her cheap alarm clock told her it was barely five in the morning when she heard a door click shut upstairs and soft footsteps on the landing. It had to be Rita, she surmised, but she wasn’t alone, for as she reached Ruby’s landing, Ruby heard another door open and a whispered conversation as they passed her door. She assumed this had to be Jane, who delivered milk from the enormous dray. She’d thought she’d recognised her last night as the girl who’d waved to her on that first morning at the factory – it was a strange coincidence that they should end up being billeted in the same house.

Ruby waited until the house was quiet again, and then padded out to use the lavatory and take advantage of the early hour to have a bath. The bathroom was icy, but there was a lock on the door and the five inches of hot water was wonderful, and she slid into it and revelled in the luxury of these private and pleasurable few minutes.

Once she’d wrapped herself in one of the soft towels and rubbed her hair dry, she scooped the water out of the bath with the large enamel jug and placed it on the landing, ready to take downstairs once she was dressed. It didn’t take long to pull on her shirt and dungarees and to tie the laces of her working boots – but a glance in the dressing-table mirror told her that although the bruises and carpet burns on her legs and arms were hidden, her face was a mess.

She sat on the little upholstered stool, feeling a bit like a film star, for she’d never possessed such a wondrous thing as a dressing table and stool, and carefully dabbed some Pond’s cold cream on her face and then dusted it with powder. A bit of mascara on her lashes made her look less washed out, and once her hair was brushed to a gleam, she felt quite pleased with the effect.

Gathering up her gas-mask box and cardigan, she breathed in the scent of the rosebud that now stood in a glass by her bedside and then quietly left the bedroom. Having retrieved the enamel jug, she went downstairs to discover Ron and Harvey were already in the kitchen.

‘Top of the morning to you,’ Ron said with a beaming smile as he took the jug from her and Harvey left his saucer of tea to greet her enthusiastically.

Ruby managed to avoid getting her face licked by wrestling the dog’s paws from her shoulders and pushing him away. ‘Good morning,’ she said, patting the animal’s head as he nudged her with his nose.

‘Harvey, ye eejit beast, leave the wee girl alone, and drink your tea,’ Ron ordered. ‘I’m sorry if he’s a bit boisterous, but he means no harm,’ he said to Ruby.

‘He’s lovely,’ she said truthfully, ‘not a bit like the savage strays we got round the tenement blocks. Most of them ’ave got the mange, and would bite you as soon as look at you.’

Ron poured her a cup of tea from the large brown pot and then ladled a good helping of porridge into a bowl and placed it on the table in front of her. ‘You get on with that, and I’ll empty the jug.’

Ruby tucked into the porridge and drank the sweetened tea as she took in her surroundings. She’d been so overwhelmed by everything last night that she hadn’t taken anything in properly, but she could see now that her first impression had been right.

It was a shabby room, with faded walls and mismatched furniture, the upholstery on the armchairs worn away from years of use. But there was little doubt that it was the heart of this home, for the fire in the range glowed, the old furniture gleamed from industrious polishing, the linoleum looked quite new, and the gingham curtain beneath the sink added a dash of colour. There was a picture of the King and Queen above the cluttered mantelpiece where framed photographs had been lovingly placed, and she could only guess that the handsome man in army uniform must be Peggy’s husband, Jim, and that the others were of their children.

The wail of a baby drifted through the house and Ruby felt a tug of longing which she quickly banished. There was no point in wishing things were different, and making a new start meant putting the past behind her – yet the memory of that poor, dead baby would always be with her, tucked away in the deepest recesses of her heart.

Ron returned to the kitchen and nodded with satisfaction as he saw her empty bowl. ‘We’ll soon put some meat on those bones,’ he muttered as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out two perfect brown eggs. ‘I’ll boil one for you and do a bit of toast,’ he said.

‘There’s no need,’ she said hastily. ‘The porridge was quite enough, and I know how precious them things are.’

‘Ach, to be sure, these come free every morning from me hens. You’ll be having the egg, and no argument.’

‘I hope there are enough for everyone, in that case,’ said Doris as she came into the kitchen with a grizzling Daisy in her arms. ‘If the girl doesn’t want it, there are plenty who will.’

Ron ignored her and placed the egg in a saucepan of boiling water.

Doris glared at him and then at Ruby. ‘You might as well make yourself useful,’ she said as she unceremoniously plonked Daisy into her lap. ‘Take care of her while I prepare her breakfast.’

Ruby looked down into the baby’s big brown eyes as she felt the solid, warm weight of her in her arms. Daisy smelled of baby powder, and her dark curls were still damp from her bath. Ruby’s heart ached with loss as she caressed the chubby arms and legs and counted each of the tiny fingers and toes. Her own baby would have looked like this if it had been allowed to grow inside her, and the thought was almost unbearable. Her eyes filled with tears and she hastily blinked them away, determined to keep those treacherous emotions at bay.

Ron must have seen how Daisy was affecting her, for he gently took the baby from her arms and jiggled her against his shoulder. ‘Eat your egg and soldiers,’ he said gruffly, ‘while I sort this one out. You don’t want to be late for work.’

She shot him a grateful, rather watery smile and ate her egg and toast while Ron fed Daisy with some porridge, and Doris fussed over heating her bottle of milk. Ron was a sweet, thoughtful man who asked no questions, but seemed attuned to her needs and emotions, and she wished with all her heart that she could repay him in some way for all that he had done for her.

Ruby had just finished her delicious breakfast and was washing her crockery when Suzy came up the cellar steps into the kitchen. She folded her navy cloak over the back of a chair and sank into it to ease off her shoes. ‘Thank goodness that shift is over,’ she said on a sigh as Ruby poured her a cup of tea. ‘Everyone was in a foul mood for some reason and I seemed to spend most of the time being bullied by either Matron or one of the surgeons.’

‘In that case you must have been doing something wrong,’ said Doris, who was now giving Daisy her bottle.

‘One doesn’t have to do anything wrong to be bullied by any of them,’ said Suzy with admirable calm. ‘It was a busy night, the theatres were running at full stretch and everyone was tense.’

‘But there wasn’t a raid last night,’ said Ron.

‘Not here, but there was a tip-and-run further along the coast. An ammunition dump took a direct hit and there were lots of civilian casualties. As we’re the biggest hospital for miles around, they were sent to us.’

She finished the cup of tea and refused the offer of breakfast. ‘I ate in the hospital canteen, and now all I want to do is go to bed and sleep. Anthony is picking me up at six, so I need—’

‘Anthony’s home?’ asked Doris. ‘He didn’t tell me he was coming back today.’

‘I expect he tried to ring you, and probably spoke to Mr Williams,’ said Suzy as she gathered up her things. ‘Never mind, you can have a chat with him this evening before we go out.’

Doris’s expression was grim, her lips forming a thin line beneath her patrician nose, her eyes narrowed and steely. ‘If you spoke to may Anthony, you could at least have told him where Aye am. He must be worried sick about me.’

Suzy bit her lip. ‘It was a very short conversation, and we were cut off before we—’

‘That is not the point,’ snapped Doris. ‘May Anthony has a very important job to do with the MOD, and he must not be allowed to fret over his mother’s whereabouts.’ She eased Daisy over her shoulder and rubbed her back rather forcefully to bring up the wind. ‘Really, you girls are so selfish. Not a thought for anyone.’

Suzy’s wan face flushed scarlet but, with admirable control, she didn’t respond to this insult, and simply walked out of the room.

Ruby decided it was time to leave for the factory before Doris started in on her and Ron.

Ron had put Daisy into her pram so he could wheel her to the Anchor. Doris, of course, had kicked up a fuss, but Daisy was his granddaughter and Doris was getting far too possessive of her – which could cause ructions with an already jealous Peggy.

He gave a deep sigh as he walked down Camden Road with Harvey trotting along beside the pram. With a house full of women he was feeling beleaguered and looked forward to a bit of peace and quiet before the lunchtime session began.

He went through the side door and wheeled the pram into the bar. Opening the diamond-paned windows to let out the fug of cigarettes and spilled beer, he parked the pram beneath one of them so Daisy could watch the dappled shadows of the nearby tree dance across the ceiling.

As Harvey settled, nose on paws, beside the pram, Ron stood in the silence as dust motes danced in the rays of sunlight that gilded the room, and felt the peace enfold him. It was a lovely old pub, built over two centuries ago when fishing and smuggling had been thriving industries in Cliffehaven, and the parson, the fisherman and the innkeeper formed an alliance which was the backbone of this illicit and very profitable trade.

The cellar had a secret hidey-hole where the smugglers used to store their goods – and where the odd black-market crate of bottles, illicit cigarettes, or barrel of rum could still be hidden. This hiding place led into a warren of tunnels that spread beneath the houses and pavements of Cliffehaven to the other pubs, and ultimately to the crypt of the large church that had been recently flattened by the Luftwaffe.

Ron looked up at the ceiling, which was low and beamed with scarred and blackened ancient oak, then his gaze drifted to the fireplace, which was wide enough to accommodate a bench on either side where the old men would sit for hours with their pipes and pints of beer. The brick floor rippled and dipped, and the heavy oak door was studded with iron. Light barely penetrated the small diamond-paned windows, but when it did at this time of the morning, it brought a rich glow to the solid mahogany of the bar and a gleam to the many pewter pots that hung above it.

He heard the latch turn in the side door, and the creak as it was opened. He didn’t take much notice, for he was expecting his doughty middle-aged barmaids, Pearl and Brenda, to arrive soon, and Harvey hadn’t bothered to get up, but was simply thumping his tail on the floor.

But as he shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to get stuck into cleaning the place up, he saw Harvey leap to his feet, then heard the unmistakable click-clack of high heels and his heart leaped with hopeful joy. He whirled round, and there she was – his Rosie.

‘Hello, Ron,’ she said with a soft smile.

‘To be sure and you’re a sight for these poor auld eyes,’ he said through the lump in his throat as he took in the hourglass figure, the lovely face with the blue eyes and sensuous mouth, framed by the halo of platinum hair. Rosie might be in her fifties, but she was one fine-looking woman – in her prime, and utterly glorious.