‘Does it mean we are right in ignoring Tommy, then?’
With an irritated sigh, reminding Ruby of her father whenever she’d argue, Fred held out his fingers as he counted off several points he wanted to get across to her. ‘Think about it. One, we know nothing about their lives before Coventry. Two, he’s got an aunt to look out for him too, remember? And three, Tommy hasn’t asked us to help him, no matter how many times we’ve offered or hinted. It’s all too complicated for us to unravel and stick our noses into. No, I say we forget about the whys and wherefores and carry on as we are when the lad turns up. We go around the houses with his mystery every night, and after Earl’s behaviour last time he paid a visit, I say leave well alone.’
Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but Beatty beat her to it. ‘As much as I hate to admit it, after listening to the old fool, I actually think Fred’s right. We keep planning how to care for the child, how to make his life better, but who knows if we’re actually making it worse? He’s got an old head on young shoulders and he’s streetwise, that much is obvious. His aunt features a lot in his life, and seemed to have a bob or two in her pocket at some time in her life, but where is she now, eh? Maybe Londoners behave different when it comes to bringing up children.’
‘But –’
‘No, Ruby. For once I’m going to put my foot down. Beatty and I are far too old to be worrying about who is going to shout at you next, or knock the door down. Please do this one thing we ask. As your new guardian, I am telling you this is how it is to be from now on. I’ve respected you’re more mature than most your age, but in some things you are not experienced enough to deal with the outcome. It is my place to make the decision which will protect you.’
Fred puffed out his words between inhaling and exhaling on his pipe. Ruby looked to Beatty.
‘I think Fred’s summed it up and said all there is to be said. We’ll leave well alone and keep you safe. Tommy is someone else’s responsibility. And, talking of responsibility, we’ve made you ours, despite you thinking it’s the other way around, and I’ve a feeling we need to have a chat about a certain young soldier.’ Beatty reached out and squeezed Ruby’s hand. ‘Fred’s volunteered to make the cocoa, so I think we’ll get to it, young lady. Let’s sit in the comfy seats.’
Fred stood up and looked at Ruby with a comical face. ‘Getting forgetful in my old age. Can’t recall volunteering for anything in my life, let alone making three cups of cocoa, but if our friend Beatty here says I have, well, who’s going to argue? I’ll leave you two to it and do my duty.’
Curling her legs up under her on her favourite chair, Ruby felt the love in the room and knew this was the right time to have a difficult conversation.
CHAPTER 26
15th November 1941
October came and went with Ruby heeding the advice from Beatty the night they had their heart-to-heart in September. She’d shared her feelings for John, and her guilt about sometimes forgetting times with her family. Beatty encouraged her to write a diary and bought her one the following day. From the moment she received it, Ruby spent time relating back to the day her world had fallen apart.
Occasionally, there were lighter moments but, on the whole, Ruby noticed a pattern of solemn thoughts and days of deep contemplation. Fred, Helen and Beatty featured as her life-savers. A page for each family member held only cheerful memories, but each one was marked with a black cross and their entry date ended 14-11-1940. Ruby couldn’t add an exact time they’d all died, and drew a line under each one ending her visits to that page. There was no going back, only forward. The journal became her daily habit, and each person who had entered her life giving a reason for her to acknowledge them received a short entry or, in some cases, several pages. Every night, Ruby spent time respecting the reason for Beatty’s purchase, and gained strength from her efforts.
Earl claimed no pleasant comments, nor gained doodles beside his name, unlike Tommy, whose pages were filled with amusing stories, sad snippets and smiling sunshine images scrawled around his name.
Then there was John’s page. He earned four pages from the onset, followed by more each time she thought of him. Around his name she’d scribbled decorations of the Union Jack flag, a camera, green leaves and one red heart. When she thought of their first meeting, she allowed words to touch the page she’d never say out loud, and would never share with anyone she knew. The more she wrote the more she fretted over another reading its content, and found a suitable box with a lock to store it and the photograph of John inside. She pushed it to the back of a drawer for peace of mind. She trusted both Beatty and Fred with her life, and knew they’d never betray her trust. Her reason for secrecy was purely from embarrassment at describing a man, who others would consider a stranger, as the person she’d marry, and of her willingness to carry his children. She jotted down intimate thoughts and shocked herself with their baseness, and wondered where she’d learned their meaning. Her hands wandered over her body after writing tender moments she’d shared with him whilst looking through the lens of his camera. Her fingers found tender spots she had no choice but to explore. After each silent, breathless discovery, Ruby also experienced a sense of shame, but nonetheless wrote down each experience. After she’d written, she was tempted to scrub them from the page, but again, it mystified her how memories of a brief hand-touching moment between a couple could bring such hot flesh moments. Had her parents experienced the same? Could they see her? Still the thought of even being discovered by those looking over her never stopped the thrill of imagining John’s flesh against hers. Had Fred shared the same thoughts and desires about his wife before they’d married? And Beatty with the man who’d sent a surge of pulsating adoration throughout her body by just walking into the room – did she feel guilty and at times shameful of having no self-control? Some days, Ruby wondered if every female kept a diary, for she found it hard to imagine her thoughts being put into words just to release the pent-up excitement they induced.
Somehow, Ruby knew she’d moved on from writing out imaginary married surnames into a world more intimate, and indescribable verbally – an adult world. At last, Ruby realised she’d slipped over the invisible line which marked the end of childhood, and ventured into the world of all woman. Each day she learned women were dropping standards, girls craved more from their boyfriends, and every act was blamed on the war. Every tale she overheard in the community room, Ruby learned to interpret into language she understood, and although the wedding night act, which Beatty and friends referred to, was not something she understood, she knew, deep inside, it was something she’d save for the sacred day itself, unlike some who’d brought ‘shame and upset’ to many a household, for giving in to their partners before marriage.
Ruby’s dreams were always of wearing a pretty lace dress, much like ones she’d seen in magazines, and worn with dignity. And always on the arm of one man. Jean-Paul Clayton. Since he’d left, she’d taken to listening to the war news on the radio in the hope of second-guessing where he might be in the world. News which never brought her joy, and only instilled a fear that John was lying injured – or worse, in a country she’d never heard of, or back in Canada enjoying the company of a female his own age. John occupied her thoughts far more than she’d like, but the thoughts refused to go away.
Drawing back her curtains after dressing in readiness for one of the many memorial services, Ruby looked out at the grey sky and let out a deep sigh. Reminders around every corner were not what she needed when treading the road to recovery. The past year had been a game of one step forward and one back. She looked down on black hats bobbing on the heads of people heading to various places of work or worship and, with one swift move, tore her own hat from her head. She raced downstairs and opened the back door to inhale fresh air.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Beatty asked as she entered the kitchen. ‘Are you ready?’
Ruby turned to face her. ‘I’m not going.’ She paced a few feet then back to the fresh air. ‘I mourn
them every day – not just my family, but all who died. I am going to use this day for the living. I’ve an idea and will open the shop. You and Fred pay your respects. I’ll be doing it in my own way.’
Beatty tugged on her gloves. ‘If you’re sure. You have to do what’s right for you, but don’t bring necessary upset on yourself. Hunt us down if you can’t cope alone. You hear me?’ Beatty held open her arms. Her warm smile and loving eyes moved Ruby and she embraced her with a gentle hug.
‘Fred will understand, so you think about yourself and do what you have to do. We’ll come by after church,’ Beatty said and took a small step away from Ruby and peered into her eyes, reassuring herself all was well.
‘I’ll be fine, but feel free to check on me. I just need to do something other than cry in a crowd.’
When the last of the mourners wove their way past the shop window, Ruby set about the idea the grey of the day had triggered. A gentle wind meandered along the road, and Ruby felt it perfect for her project.
Pulling out the large ladder, she tied string from one side of the shop front to the other, where Fred had placed hooks for external shades, yet to be made. Then, armed with pegs and a box of items, she spent fifteen minutes pegging out multi-coloured socks in a row. They blew in the breeze and brightened up the grey surrounding her. She wrote each family member’s name on a large piece of cardboard and drew colourful images around the names with pencils from the children’s table in the community room. The cardboard cut-out was kite-shaped, and she’d attached pieces of colourful rags cut into strips from its tail. Their bright colours cheered up the lamppost opposite the shop. In the window she placed anything bright and cheery, and taped a large poster to the inside of one window, declaring they were in memory of all the bright souls who’d walked the streets of Coventry and might they live on through rainbow colours.
Satisfied with her work, Ruby went back inside and prepared plates of rich tea biscuits and set up the new hot water urn Fred had purchased after Beatty complained about how many times she’d had to fill the kettle in just one morning. Ruby had a feeling that once word got out about the decorations, several people would pay her a visit. Curiosity always won over the knitting group.
She glanced at the clock above the front door. Ten-thirty. Pulling out her ledger, she worked on the weekly figures. She thought back to when her father and Stephen sat side-by-side doing much the same, whilst she worked on a mathematical problem Stephen had given her. All seemed so long ago but, in reality, it was no longer that two years. Grateful for a good education, Ruby continued working on adding up figures, re-planning the shop floor and wondering how long it would be before the stock had outgrown the shop. By eleven-thirty Beatty and Fred could be heard laughing outside and she sat and listened, delighted her efforts had brought the result she’d desired. More laughter joined theirs, but fell silent as people looked to the wording inside the window. The front door clicked open and a trail of people followed Beatty inside.
She looked at Ruby, whose heart pounded inside her chest. She knew Beatty and Fred understood, but would the others? After their initial finding and laughter, the words appeared to have subdued them. Then it came to her; they were coming inside to pay their respects.
She jumped down from her seat and beckoned them into the community room. Beatty unpinned her hat and placed it on the counter; she pulled on a pinafore and began the job of preparing pots of tea for Ruby to place on the tables. Well-wishers spoke of her family and thanked her for reminding them of how their own had once brought laughter and light to their lives, and that they should never forget those times by wearing the burden of grief.
By midday the shop became silent once again and Ruby, with Fred’s help, took down the decorations.
‘Shame that young chap with the camera wasn’t around. He could have photographed it all for you,’ Fred said and handed Ruby a thick pair of red and blue striped socks.
Not wishing to get drawn into a conversation about John, Ruby lifted the socks and waggled them about. ‘Almost patriotic. It’s a good job some of these can’t be seen under the uniforms.’
‘If their feet suffer like mine did in the trenches, they’ll be grateful for any shade, and I think the powers that be wouldn’t care if they wore them on their heads when the fighting reaches its peak,’ Fred said.
Ruby and Beatty laughed.
‘That’s me done in the kitchen. I’ve used the remaining hot water to soak some of the clothes we received yesterday. I’ll deal with them tomorrow,’ Beatty said.
They tidied the boxes away and pulled on their coats. Ruby had made the decision to keep the shop closed for the rest of the day.
A rattle at the door distracted them. All three let out a sigh when they saw Earl’s face peering through the window. None of them moved from the doorway, knowing he’d not see them from that angle. With another rattle of the handle, Earl followed through with a rap on the door. They watched as he stood and lit a cigarette, discarded the match and walked away. The click of his shoes echoed in the street and eventually disappeared. Only then did they step out onto the shop floor.
‘I’ve not missed him these past – what, three weeks?’ Beatty said.
Ruby peered out into the street and stepped out. ‘It must be. Coast clear,’ she said. The others stepped out and she locked the door behind them. ‘Tommy’s not been around for weeks. Gone back to London, I expect. Let’s get home before Earl comes back. I can’t be doing with him hanging around, today of all days.’
Back at home, Ruby thought more about the plans she’d scribbled down that morning. With Helen in Yorkshire, she no longer had a contact for news about Eagle Street, and set her mind to finding out from the council office. As it was Saturday, she was frustrated there was another day and a half to get through before she could ask her questions.
‘And that’s where my family died. I appreciate the house couldn’t be built back to front, with the crater at the top end of the garden, but if I could purchase it from the landlord, I –’ Ruby inhaled after telling the fierce-looking council officer in front of her the reason why she was so interested in a bombed plot in Eagle Street.
‘Miss Shadwell, how old are you?’ The council officer who’d sat chewing the corner of his moustache during her speech eventually asked the damning question.
‘Seventeen and a half, but I –’
‘But you are – too young. I’m sorry, any purchase you make would have to be in another’s name, and the deeds would be registered to them,’ the man said in a tone which suggested she was wasting his valuable time.
‘So, it could be done? You know the landlord, and could approach him on my behalf? I own Garden Cottage in Spon Street, and would swap it with Eagle Street if he preferred. I’ll ask the bank manager to prove I’ve money to purchase the land, if not.’ Ruby spoke with great enthusiasm after hearing words of hope.
‘Swapping houses is not how things are done, Miss Shadwell.’ The officer’s patronising tone annoyed Ruby, but she kept quiet as he continued talking. ‘Owning a property at your age is unusual, but it does mean someone already supports your interests. I’ll look into your request, and maybe your guardian will attend the next meeting with you, should there be a positive response from the landlord. Happy with that? I’ll write to you of the outcome.’ The man lifted a pile of paperwork and patted it, edge down on the table, clearly indicating their meeting was over. Ruby rose to her feet and held out her hand, but not before wiping it down her dress. Her nerves had made her palms sweat and she wanted to make the right impression.
‘Thank you. I appreciate your help, and for understanding my reason for wanting to do this. I’m young, but know that I want to remain in Coventry.’
The man shook her hand and gave her his first smile of their meeting. ‘I do understand, and it is an admirable reason. As I say, I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you. That’s all I ask,’ Ruby said and left the meeting under a cloud. Age. Age prevented her from acting alone
once again. Beatty and Fred would support her decisions, but she’d never be able to surprise them with anything until she was twenty-one. A birthday which seemed like a lifetime away. Although the war had brought her more freedom than she’d ever experienced, she still needed her independence.
CHAPTER 27
7th December 1941
A letter from Helen landed on the doormat – Ruby recognised her handwriting. A second letter bore the postmark, Military Post, 10th November 1941. It was addressed to Miss R Shadwell and family, Garden Cottage, Spon Street, Coventry.
She ripped open the envelope, pulled out its contents and snatched up a slice of the cold toast sitting on her plate and took a bite. Chewing slowly, she opened the single sheet of paper and admired the neat handwriting.
Dear All,
Forgive the short note, but things are moving fast around here, and I am sitting on a truck waiting to move out to pastures new.
I would like to thank you for your friendship, and want you to know my mother appreciated her son’s welcome to your city. If ever you are in Toronto, she said you are to drop by. I warn you, Toronto is a large place to try and drop by without an address. Maybe, when the war is over, you could come and walk in Allan Gardens. Please, all of you, make the trip over and see the beauty of my country. I travelled up to Scotland and, in some small way, it reminded me of home, with the pine trees and lakes. Toronto has large buildings, rightly named skyscrapers, too big for the pretty villages I’ve seen in England. I digress. I recently had a bumpy ride into a country I cannot name for security purposes, and Ruby, I saw more wallpapered walls, and remembered your words. I took time to find out more about the occupants where I could. It’s a sad, cruel war.
Our driver has arrived, and I’m afraid the potholed road will not allow me to write with a steady hand. If I get the opportunity, I will write again. Should you wish to write to me, please send letters to the address below, and they will forward them on.
The Orphan Thief Page 19