Ruby pulled a chair out from the back room and offered it to the large woman she’d first met when clearing her yard near Eagle Street. Her husband never survived the blast of a gas pipe, and her daughter lived the other end of the country. Ruby had helped her compose a reassuring letter to send to her daughter to let her know her mother was safe and not to try to get to the city. Fred had taken to talking with her and a deep friendship had formed. They were two friends in the last few years of their lives, juggling with the struggles of war and ageing.
‘Ta, duck. My feet are killing me. Chilblains. It’s so cold in my place. I can’t light a fire.’
Tommy moved around the room with a brush and dustpan. ‘I can teach you. Me mum showed me,’ he said.
‘That’s kind of you, little man, but what I mean is I’m not allowed. Too many broken gas pipes in the area, and my chimney is badly damaged.’
‘Ah, you need a good chimbly for a good fire. See, the kindlin’ won’t fire up,’ Tommy said and carried on sweeping, unaware the two women were struggling to remain composed. Beatty had resorted to ramming a fist into her mouth and Ruby was bent double in the pretence of looking for something by her feet. Eventually she couldn’t control the laughter any more.
‘I’ll make us a nice cuppa, Mrs P. Back in a minute.’
‘Call me Beatty, for goodness’ sake. You make me sound old.’
When Ruby returned with a tray of drinks and three biscuits on a plate, she saw Beatty reading to Tommy. It was a calming moment of normality. It seemed a shame to interrupt them.
‘Tommy, carrot juice and a biscuit?’
Tommy scrambled to his feet and took his glass and biscuit from the plate offered.
‘Ta,’ he said and sat on the floor with his legs crossed.
‘Beatty?’ Ruby said.
Beatty nodded and took her cup and saucer. ‘Tommy can have my biscuit,’ she said.
‘It’s his lucky day. I was going to give him mine, but we’ll put them back for another day. They might not have rationed them yet, but they are hard to find at the moment. Fred enjoys a bit of baking and he’ll be here with lunch soon. I have a feeling there will be something made with carrots coming our way. There’s not a day goes by where we don’t get treated to something carroty,’ Ruby said and giggled.
‘Rationing is going to get tougher, so I hear. Clothes next, apparently. That’s where you’ll do well, collecting and repairing. Don’t give them all to the ragman,’ Beatty said and slurped her tea from the saucer.
A customer entered the shop and Ruby greeted her. ‘Feel free to browse, and there’s the notice explaining the tags attached.’
Tommy rose to his feet and put his crockery on the table. He took the outside broom and swept the front pathway. ‘Hello, Fred.’
Ruby watched as the pair greeted each other. One as tall as the broom, the other as thin.
‘Friends for life, that pair,’ she said to Beatty.
‘Don’t let the lad get too attached. Fred’s old, and –’
‘Please, Beatty, don’t,’ Ruby said and held up her hand to stop Beatty from speaking.
‘Be realistic, girl.’
‘Tommy is only here for a short while. He’ll be long gone by the time age has taken Fred from us. Let them enjoy each other’s company.’
‘True enough. Goodness knows we have so very little to take comfort in at the moment. Who am I to prevent a friendship? Ignore me. I just worry for Fred, that’s all – and you.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Beatty. My life is ticking along and, thanks to Fred, my lonely days are a thing of the past. I never mixed much, but it is nice to have someone moving around the house.’
‘I know what you mean.’
The rest of the day was spent cleaning and pricing new items and by the time Ruby turned the Closed sign she had no regrets about setting up the business. Tommy left with his money tucked into his pocket and Fred returned home to heat the oven in readiness for his meat and potato pies.
Ruby decided to visit the ruins of her old home on her walk back. It would be the first time since the November bombing and she was unsure whether she’d make it all the way to the crater or whether the pain would still be too much for her to bear.
CHAPTER 13
Clearing teams still moved around the city streets and the noises drowned out birdsong; there was nothing beautiful left to lift their spirits. As she approached the vicinity of her old home her nerve faltered. She saw that it had been fenced off, and it irritated her to have a barrier between her and her family. Undeterred, Ruby lifted the barbed wire and wood to one side and entered the area marked as dangerous by several signs. Once through, she dropped to her knees, scouring the area for a hint of her family, for something to make her understand the sickening reality of it all. She sat dangling her legs over the edge of the deep hole, unafraid of falling in, but hoping familiar faces would draw her to them and comfort her in the darkness of their new world.
A movement from across the site caught her attention and from the corner of her eye she spotted a man in uniform. Her heart pounded with excitement. It was John Clayton. He stood with one leg on the ground and the other balanced on a floored chimney pot. He lifted both arms and held out a black box. Each time she moved she was aware of the camera covering his face. Ruby remained seated, talking to her family. Let him take his photographs. Let him record her anguish and share it with the world. If he could take pictures of a young girl breaking her heart over the death of her family then he was as hard as the pilots who had dropped the bombs. She had no time for the likes of him when others were tearing their hands to shreds trying desperately to right the wrongs.
She kept her eyes on the crater, not wanting him to see the tear snaking its way down her cheek. Once she’d composed herself, she turned to face him. He lifted his hand in greeting and made to move in her direction. Ruby shook her head and held up a hand to prevent him from coming to her. She stood up, moved away from the hole in the ground and scooted under the barbed wire. Halfway across the bombed-out street, she saw him disappear behind a wall which had once been the interior of the house belonging to a pair of newlyweds. Ruby recalled the laughter from the house when the couple had been decorating. They’d moved in four days before the bomb had dropped and killed them. On display was their chosen colour and wallpaper in the latest fashion. Wasted. Destroyed.
As she turned behind the wall she saw John leaning against it as he smoked a cigarette and when she gave a slight cough he glanced her way. His facial expression was not what she’d expected. A deep sadness stared back. He looked tired, and his jawline showed a hint of growth.
‘Hello, Ruby. How are you?’
‘Well, thanks. You?’ Ruby knew her voice was clipped and over-polite, but she still smarted at him photographing her at such a private time.
‘Tired. Seen a few things I can’t un-see that keep me awake at night, but I’m happier for seeing a friendly face. Although, is it a friendly face?’ John asked, and mimicked Ruby’s scowl.
‘Did you take many?’ Ruby asked and pointed to the camera.
‘A few.’
Ruby gave him a tight-lipped stare and crossed her arms with displeasure. ‘It was a private moment.’