Ruby's War (9 page)

Towards the end of the evening, at Henry's suggestion, Con switched to mild and found it far pleasanter.

‘We're off fire-watching. Thought we'd get a few down us first,' Henry said. ‘Me and Johnny is calling for fish and chips before we go on duty. If you're hungry, we'll introduce you to another treat, now you've got your taste for the beer.'

From the outside, there was no hint of what kind of place the small building was. The old man opened the door and they stepped down into a small, dimly lit room. A queue of people waited in a line that ran along the bare, light-green walls and doubled back on itself in front of the wooden counter. Behind the counter, a man in a white apron stood over a shiny, green range and lowered wire baskets of pale sliced potato into the bubbling fat. His assistant, a small, bent woman with sparse black hair curled around her heavily made-up face, wrapped up the food in white paper, and then into newspaper bundles.

As they edged to the head of the queue, Con was able to watch the rest of the customers through a mirror set
into the back of the range. Nearly all the people waiting in line looked grey and tired. From their dress, the men in overalls or long greasy macs, and many of the women in trousers with headscarves tied around their heads in a turban style, he guessed that most of them were shift workers on their way home. There wasn't the same banter as there had been on the bus, or in the pub. But when a customer, a bony-faced man with frayed cuffs, caught Wes studying the unfamiliar brown coins that he was counting out into the hand of the bent woman, the man nodded shyly and then called ‘good neet' to them as he slipped out into the darkness.

Con watched the bent woman who, despite her awkward gait, moved briskly, scooping up the fish and fries. When they reached the front of the queue, she looked at him.

‘Yes, sir,' she said. ‘What would you like?'

Con's eyes met Bo's in the mirror. His throat felt dry as, in the silence, the woman's face creased into a ghoulish smile.

‘Fish and chips six times,' Henry said at last.

‘Do you want salt and vinegar?' the lady asked.

As Con nodded dumbly for all of them, a voice from the back of the queue called, ‘Can you make that seven times, love?'

Henry turned and smiled. ‘Hello Sadie, love. I'm glad you're here. We'll just get served and I'll introduce you.'

The girl grinning across at them had an almond-shaped face, with a delicate tapering chin, green eyes that slanted upwards at the corners and perfect, white teeth.

‘This is Sadie,' Henry said, when Con stumbled out into the darkness.

‘Nice to meet you,' she said, as someone handed him a bundle in hot newspaper. ‘Now come on, eat your chips or they'll get cold. I'm starving. There's nothing like chips and fish after a long shift. You off fire-watching, Da?'

‘Aye,' Henry said in between mouthfuls. ‘I've just thought, these lads will need somebody to show them how to get back to their camp. Can you manage on your own, Johnny, whilst I show them the way?'

‘No need,' Sadie said. ‘I'll walk them part of the way. I'm calling in on Lou on my way home. Just let me finish these chips.'

The group wandered along until they reached a school. Then Henry and Johnny said goodnight and walked up through the playground.

‘Them was lovely,' Sadie said. ‘Can you see that building?' she asked, pointing towards a single-storey building just visible through the gloom. ‘Well that's the church hall where we have the dances.'

She led them down a quiet suburban lane, pointing out shops, asking where they were from, laughing and chatting with them as easily as if it was something that she did every day.

Con walked a few steps behind. He could hear her laughing, and Bo, in his deep growl, asking her about Henry and her job. The hot food had warmed him, but as he followed them, Con felt the damp air creep inside his clothes and a chill rippled through him.

The sky was clear and the moonlight lit up the wet road in front of them, making it shine. In every garden wet leaves glistened and dripped. He thought of home and the summer heat and wondered if he would ever feel dry and
warm again. Then he heard the guys giggling with Sadie about some joke, and the sound of her tinkling laughter made him smile. When they came to a crossroads she stopped. ‘I go this way,' she said. ‘You keep straight on and you'll come to the camp.'

‘Will you be all right?' Bo asked. ‘Should we see you home?'

‘No. No thanks. I'm fine from here. But thanks for asking. I'm calling in on my friend; she only lives a couple of houses down. Listen, if you can get passes for Saturday, why don't you come to the dance at the church hall?'

They watched her until she disappeared. It was too dark for Con to make out the others' faces.

Then Holt laughed softly, ‘Ain't she the prettiest thing you ever saw?'

‘And she asked me to the dance,' Bo said.

‘Us,' Con said. ‘She asked us all to the dance.'

‘But she's …' Wes whispered.

‘What?' Bo growled. ‘She's what?'

‘You know what,' Wes said. ‘You wouldn't go to meet a white girl. At home …'

‘We're not at home, and she asked me …'

‘Us.'

‘She probably wants you to sing. They got groups goin' round all the churches singing. Everybody likes to hear happy, singin' black folks,' Holt said. ‘I told her I got prizes for dancing. She's—'

‘No you ain't.'

‘I do so. I got a prize in high school.'

‘You're lying, man. You're no better mover than me.'

‘I am so. I'll show you. May I have this dance?' Holt asked and grabbed Bo's arm.

‘Get off me. You lied to that little white girl. You said …' Bo tried to wrestle him, and when Holt broke free, he chased him along the road. ‘I'm gonna make you sorry.'

‘You can't dance as good as me. An' you can't run as fast.'

‘Yes, I can. Bet you didn't tell her you was married? You're a disgrace.'

‘Can you believe this place?' Wes said, as they watched Bo chase Holt down the lane. ‘These people … white people. Dressed like poor folk, all of 'em …'

‘Might be, but they're friendly. Talk funny too, but they're good people.'

‘Folk here might be shabby,' Wes said, offering Con a cigarette, ‘but they still white and the people on the bus, the old guy and the landlord …'

‘The woman in the shop … she called me “sir”.'

‘I know …' Wes grinned. ‘Never thought I'd hear that. Like you said, folks here … they're different. Got to give you that.'

They caught up with Bo and Holt, who'd grown tired of wrestling. Wes tried again to persuade Bo that to dream of dancing with a pretty white girl was crazy, but he refused to be discouraged and began to sing. He continued to sing as they walked the rest of the way down the lane and up the main street, his deep, rich voice rising in the night air, followed by Wes's lighter tenor. As they neared the turning to the base, a jeep swung out and blocked the road.

‘Hey, you. You, boy,' one of the MPs in the jeep shouted. ‘Quit that racket.'

But Bo sang louder, and the others joined Wes's sweet tenor, lifting their voices to follow the harmony.

‘I said quit that,' the furious MP bellowed. ‘You ignoring me, boy?'

Bo stopped, balled his hands into fists and headed towards the jeep. The others fell silent. Then the bedroom window of one of the terrace houses across the street suddenly rattled and snapped open. A large woman stuck her head out.

‘Who you tellin' to shut up? It's you that wants to stop yellin'. You're in England now, love. You carry on. It sounds lovely. It's him as wants to shut up.'

‘Aye,' called a small man, whose shiny head was just visible around the side of his wife's heavy body, ‘you 'ave a sing if you want, lad. It's very nice.'

‘And you in the white hat,' the woman shouted, ‘can keep the bloody noise down.'

‘Here, put this in your purse,' Jenny said, opening the chest of drawers and taking a half-crown from an old tin. ‘If you see a queue, doesn't matter what shop, or what's being sold, just join it. Just get what you can. I can allus swap it.'

Ruby blushed, guiltily pushing the silver coin down beside the ten-shilling note her Uncle Walt had given her.

‘I'll write down my Co-op number for you. They'll not serve you without it. Oh, and I'm registered at the butcher's near the Co-op, so if you see a queue outside the other one, Bamford's, don't bother. They'll not serve you there.'

Jenny took a piece of brown paper from the drawer, unfolded it carefully and began to parcel up the doctor's freshly laundered washing. As she did, the afternoon sunlight caught the smooth contours of the newly pressed cloth and the runnels of sweat webbing her tired face. She'd
spent the whole morning testing each flat iron Ruby had brought from the fire, judging the heat needed to press the dampened fabric and bending every muscle to ease each pleat on the doctor's dress shirts. Now she unfastened a loop of twine, tugged it out across her apron front and measured the length against the parcel. When it was neatly fastened, she patted it.

‘Now, that's ready,' she said, and stood back to admire her handiwork.

The parcel's bulk made it difficult to carry. Ruby tried holding it by the loop in the string but the sides puckered, so she carried it in front of her, balanced on her outstretched forearms. She decided to take the main road. The air was clear and the cloudless sky a deep, pure blue. A light breeze ruffled the fading leaves, and the late-autumn sunlight made them shimmer.

At the gate of the doctor's house she met an elderly man carrying a bunch of orange flowers.

‘Now, young lady,' he said. ‘Is that parcel for the doctor?'

The man's moss-green cap shaded his eyes and his windowpane check shirt was held up around the elbows by two broad elastic bands.

‘I've brought the doctor's laundry,' she said. ‘I was told to go around to the kitchen door and ask for Mrs Alice Watts.'

‘Well, I can help you there,' the man said. ‘I know the lady well.'

She followed him through the gate, their feet crunching out of time on the white gravel. The drive was edged with slick-leafed rhododendrons and shielded from the road
by tall trees, whose thick foliage made the house appear gloomy.

‘I know you were told to go round to the kitchen door,' the man said, ‘but on this occasion you can follow me through the front. I'm Dick Watts, by the way. Alice is my wife, and I know for a fact that there's no one at home.'

The house was made of the same red brick as the smaller ones along the main road. Ivy clung to the walls and climbed on top of the porch, softening the building's sharp angles. Inside the narrow entrance hall the lower part of the walls were covered with plain green tiles, interspersed with some depicting exotic flowers, each labelled with its botanical name. Above the tiling, the walls were papered in an equally dull green stripe. A large wooden hatstand took up almost half of the space, and on the wall opposite, there was an enormous barometer in a similar type of shiny, dark wood.

Mr Watts tapped the glass. ‘Ah, the pressure is rising,' he said. ‘Now, I've got to take these flowers into the sitting room and then I'll show you where you leave your parcel. I shouldn't be a minute.'

The vestibule opened into a spacious hall. Facing the door, a broad staircase twisted and then climbed out of sight. Behind it, a wall made of individual panes of pale green and yellow glass rose up as far as she could see. The effect was to flood the building with light; even the crosses of tape on each pane didn't spoil the feeling of space. The dappled light from the window fell on to the stairs, making the pattern of tangled roots and leaves in the carpet appear to move, as though the trees behind the windows were creeping indoors.

‘Wait here,' Mr Watts said, heading towards a set of double doors on her right.

When he slipped silently behind the doors, Ruby felt the house settle around her. Somewhere deep inside the building she heard a clock's pulse. A bowl of white roses stood on a table in the centre of the room. Their perfume, mingled with the tang of sun-heated old varnish and floor polish, filled the hall. Every wall was hung with pictures, but it was the portrait next to the sitting-room door that caught her attention. Ruby crept closer. The subject, a beautiful woman in a pale-blue suit and matching cloche hat, gazed down at her. She was admiring the delicate fingers resting on the rim of a small table, when a door behind her opened. Ruby felt something thud into her, pushing her forwards with such force that the parcel left her hands. As it skittered across the red-tiled floor, a large dog bounded after it.

‘No!' Ruby yelled, grabbing the parcel and holding it out of the dog's reach.

When she held the package higher, the dog, pleased with the game, danced around and yapped excitedly, jumping and snapping at the prize. She was rescued by a stout, white-haired woman in an apron.

‘Get down, Rover,' she said, dragging the young dog away by his collar.

Then the sitting-room door opened, and the lady in the portrait walked out, followed by Mr Watts.

‘Are you all right, dear?' the woman from the picture asked. ‘You're a naughty boy, Rover. He's just a puppy, you see, and rather too playful.'

At the sound of his name, Rover leapt towards his
mistress, scattering the papers she was carrying.

‘I'll take him, madam,' the plump lady said.

‘Would you, Alice?' she replied. ‘Now look what you've done, you bad dog. I'll never get these in order again.'

Once the dog had been dragged away, Ruby put her parcel on the first step of the staircase and began to help Mr Watts and the lady to pick up the papers. Some of them were covered in neat, italic handwriting and the rest of it was sheet music.

‘Oh dear,' the lady said, ‘I'll never get them sorted out. I don't know anything about notation. Do either of you have any ideas? Mr Watts?'

‘The writing has little numbers in the corner of the pages,' Ruby said. ‘I think they follow on, and the music … it has words … I know the songs.'

‘She's right,' the lady laughed. ‘Clever girl. How stupid of me not to see. I'm glad you were here,' she smiled, as Ruby put the sheets in order. ‘I'd have been lost without you. Goodness, did that naughty dog scratch your face? Mr Watts will take you to the kitchen and get Alice to put something on it. Then you must come back and see me before you go.'

‘Missus says to put something on her face,' Mr Watts said, dropping the parcel on the table. ‘She's brought the doctor's laundry.'

Mrs Watts rinsed her hands and dried them on her apron.

‘And whose idea was it to come in by the front door?'

‘I didn't know the missus was in, and you said you'd gone to Bamford's for the meat.'

‘That was hours ago,' his wife said, and smiled at Ruby. ‘Sit down, pet,' she said. ‘Let's look what that stupid dog has done.'

When Mrs Watts lifted her chin, Ruby could smell fresh herbs and washing soap on her hands.

‘It doesn't look like much harm has been done. We'll just bathe it with soap and water, and I've some cream as will soothe it.'

‘There's iodine in the cupboard,' Mr Watts offered.

‘What, and make her face smart? No. Delicate skin shouldn't have iodine on it,' Mrs Watts said, filling a bowl with soap and water. ‘Make yourself useful and put the kettle on,' she said to her husband. ‘We'll have a cup of tea, when I've done this.'

Mr Watts took the kettle and filled it. ‘Missus wants to see her again before she goes,' he said. ‘I took her the chrysanths. She doesn't want 'em. Says they're too hot, or something. Says to take 'em for the altar at the church.'

‘Too hot, indeed. Whatever next,' his wife tutted. ‘When you've put that kettle on, you can unpack that washing, or they'll be creased again.'

Once Ruby's cheek was bathed, Mrs Watts poured the tea and offered her a biscuit.

‘They're my own recipe,' she said, ‘oats and butter I call them, but it's a while since there was any butter in them. What's your name, dear?'

‘My granddad's …'

‘Oh, I know who you are, dear. You're the picture of
Lucy, your grandma. Same lovely eyes and the same hair.' Mrs Watts smiled and took a sip of her tea. ‘She was older than me, but I can remember her. She must have been about twenty at the time. Such a beauty. Ask Dick, here. He'll tell you.'

‘Oh, she was indeed,' Dick Watts said. ‘Tall, like you. I knew who you were, when I saw you at the gate. Are you visiting?'

‘I've come to stay with my granddad. I've never seen a picture of her.'

‘Well you could be twins,' he said.

‘You still haven't said what your name is,' Alice Watts said, offering her another biscuit.

‘I'm Ruby. My dad picked it because my mum is … was called Pearl.'

‘Well, it's very pretty. I'm Alice and this is Dick. If you're coming regular for the washing, use the back door.'

‘I'm to ask if there's any more shirts to go back,' Ruby said.

‘Well there's a problem there. Some of the doctor's collars want turning, and I haven't got time, us being short-staffed, and the missus, bless her heart, is no needlewoman.'

‘I know how,' Ruby said. ‘I've done my uncle's.'

‘I don't know. They're good shirts and hard to come by. Tell you what, you can do one of Dick's old ones, and if it's suitable, I'll consider it. Now, I'll take you through to see Mrs Grey, and remember next time, come to the back door.'

Mrs Grey was sitting in an easy chair reading a magazine. She looked older than her portrait, but no less
beautiful. Her hair was pale, almost white, and brushed back from her high forehead. She had finely shaped eyebrows arched above her generous, velvety lashes and brilliant blue eyes. When she smiled, Ruby felt as if it was just for her.

‘You look better already, dear,' she said, perching her cigarette on the edge of a scalloped glass ashtray. ‘Tell me, do you play?'

‘Yes, madam,' Ruby said, glancing at Mrs Watts to check if this form of address was appropriate. ‘My father arranged music for my mother to sing, and I played for her when she worked on new pieces. She was working on that song.'

‘So you can play popular songs? How wonderful. What a find,' Mrs Grey said, getting up from her seat.

The large room had two enormous windows overlooking the lawns at the back of the house. Under the largest one was a baby grand piano with a dark-red shawl spread across the top. Mrs Grey opened the lid.

‘Could you play something for me?' she asked. ‘Something from memory?'

Ruby took off her mac and sat down at the piano. Mrs Grey returned to her seat and motioned to Mrs Watts to join her. Ruby didn't feel nervous; she loved to play. When her hands touched the keys, she always felt at home. She played ‘The Last Rose of Summer', a song that she knew just fitted the lovely room. The instrument was tuned perfectly and at the end of the piece, her audience applauded.

‘My, how wonderful,' Mrs Grey smiled. ‘She's very good, isn't she, Alice?'

‘She is indeed, madam, and she's a handy girl as well.
She's going to turn a collar for me, and if it's satisfactory, she'll do Doctor Grey's shirts.'

‘That's wonderful. Doctor Grey's shirts are getting so worn, and they're impossible to replace. Now …'

‘Ruby,' Mrs Watts supplied.

‘Now, Ruby, do you think you could play for my guests? I've invited some people … Oh Alice, I haven't told you, have I? I met Mrs Prendergast in town and … well, I just felt we all needed cheering up.'

‘The help, madam … Mabel finishes at the end of the week.'

‘Yes, yes she does. Ruby, do you think you could help? If you could …'

‘She's not trained, madam,' Mrs Watts said, getting to her feet and straightening her apron.

‘We'll keep it simple. Just simple food. Mr Watts can help to serve. Ruby can help you, and then play for us. When you come next week, dear, bring your music. We'll choose something for you to play before dinner, and then you can help in the kitchen.'

When Ruby left the house, the shadows were lengthening. She hugged the old shirt to her as she walked back to the cottage. On her way to Doctor Grey's, she'd taken the long way round through the village, hoping to see the girl from the swings. Now, instead of walking home the short way by the lane, Ruby took the long way back to the cottage again. This time, with her mind full of the lovely room and its piano, she imagined herself sitting at the baby grand, with the Greys' guests, handsome men and their elegant wives, standing by the window, listening to her play.

Con took Sadie into his arms. As they danced, he felt her hair brushing against his chin. The music was soft, romantic and yet oddly distant; it was as though he and Sadie had left the church hall and the rest of the dancers behind them. He looked down at the curve of her smooth, apple-pink cheek, and she lifted her face for him to kiss. Her mouth tasted sweet, and he drew her closer. She looked up at him, smiled her pretty smile, and slipped her arms around his neck. Con couldn't believe that this beautiful white girl had chosen to dance with him. He wasn't much used to girls, and the only time he'd danced before was at his school dance, but his feet knew the steps and were moving perfectly in time to the music. He wasn't sure what to do next. He hoped she'd lift her head again and invite him to kiss her. For now, he was happy just to have her in his arms. Every other guy he knew would be jealous. He smiled and dipped his chin, hoping to catch the feel of her soft hair and inhale its perfume. Instead, her hair felt scratchy and the smell of it made him squirm. Con put out his hand to push her away and heard a yell.