by Maureen Lee
‘And you’re still going from strength to strength?’
‘I’ve just got back from Australia. I’m going into swimming pools. I only saw your letter yesterday.’
And he’d come straight away! Ruby was beginning to wonder if she’d misjudged him, when the front door opened and the girls came in. To her surprise, they both looked extraordinarily pleased to find him there, particularly Greta, who inexplicably burst into tears. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to see you,’ she cried.
Matthew gave her a hug and a kiss. He wiped the tears away with an impeccably ironed white hankie. ‘And it’s lovely to see you, both of you.’
He left soon afterwards, without saying if she could stay in the house. Ruby was left to assume that she could.
‘He’s a strange man,’ she mused aloud to the girls. ‘Fancy someone in his position collecting rents.’
‘I don’t see anything strange about him,’ Heather said defensively. ‘And it’s only our rents he collects, because he likes us and wants to be friends.’
Greta chimed in. ‘I think he’s smashing. Larry and Rob thought he was the gear. He used to get them tickets for... oh!’ She clapped her hand to her mouth and ran from the room.
‘For what?’ asked a mystified Ruby.
‘Football matches,’ Heather said briefly. ‘He used to get them tickets for football matches, the best seats. I’ll go and see to her.’
That night, while the girls were in the lounge watching the newly acquired television, Ruby sat at the kitchen table and wrote a short letter to her mother, informing her of the recent tragedy and that she was no longer getting married. They hadn’t seen each other since the girls’ wedding. She finished with, ‘I’ll let you know when Greta’s babies arrive in case you would like to come to the christening.’
She addressed the envelope, stamped it, and opened the writing pad again. Now Beth, whom she should have telephoned weeks ago, but it was easier to describe the events of that dreadful day on paper. The other way, she would have broken down, wept herself silly.
‘Well, that’s a load off my mind,’ she sighed when Beth’s much longer letter was finished and ready to post tomorrow.
Ruby cupped her chin in her hands and stared into space. It wasn’t long since she’d sat in this very spot thinking everything was about to change. The girls had just got married, she was getting married herself.
But now it seemed she was destined to remain in Mrs Hart’s house, and hardly anything had changed at all.
Chapter 12
1963–1970
The woman was crying loudly outside the school gates, a small tubby woman of about thirty wearing blue and white striped cotton slacks and a bright red jumper. Her brown hair was cropped untidily short. Ruby stopped and enquired, ‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not,’ the woman sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. ‘I’m devastated if you must know. Me little boy’s just started school and I don’t know how I’m going to manage without him.’
‘You will,’ Ruby said with conviction.
‘How would you know? Oh, of course. I just saw you taking three little girls into the classroom. They all seemed quite happy considering it’s their first day. Which are yours? The twins or the red-haired one?’
‘They’re all mine in a way. I’m their gran.’
‘Goodness me! You don’t look nearly old enough to be a grandmother.’
Ruby was forty-four. She preened herself, being apt to take offence on the rare occasions she was assumed to be a grandparent. She and the woman began to walk together away from the school.
‘Where are their mothers?’ the woman enquired. ‘That’s if you don’t mind me asking, like?’
‘I don’t mind at all. The twins’ mother, Greta, hasn’t been well for a while. She’s at home. My other daughter, Heather, goes to work.’ It had been necessary, not long after the babies were born, for the girls to have a room each to accommodate their offspring. Fortunately, Mr Oliver had announced he was leaving at about the same time, so Ruby had moved upstairs. It meant one less rent was coming in and although her daughters received an allowance from the state, it wasn’t enough. Heather had returned to work and was now a clerk in a solicitor’s office, leaving red-haired Daisy in Ruby’s capable hands.
‘I’m Pixie Shaw, by the way,’ the woman said. She had stopped crying, though her eyes were still bloodshot. ‘Me real name’s Patricia, but me husband claims I look like a pixie, so that’s where the name comes from.’
There was no way on earth that Ruby would have allowed anyone to call her Pixie. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘My name’s Ruby O’Hagan.’
‘I’d ask you back for a cup of tea, Ruby, ’cause I feel like talking to someone, but me house is a tip.’
Ruby took the blatant hint. ‘You can come back to ours if you like.’ Her own house was a tip, but she didn’t care. Nor did she feel like talking to anyone, but felt even less like entering a house bereft of children where Greta would still be asleep. She’d get used to the silence eventually, enjoy it, but it would take a while. It didn’t help that it was such a horrible morning, dark and forbidding, with black clouds bunched threateningly overhead.
‘That’d be nice, ta. I didn’t have time to tidy up before I left. Me and our poor Clint were bawling our heads off. Neither of us wanted him to go to school.’
‘Clint!’
‘He’s called after Clint Eastwood from Rawhide. It was my favourite programme on the telly. Did you ever see it?’
‘No, but my daughters did.’ By the time Ruby collapsed in front of the television, it was usually time for the national anthem.
‘It’s finished now, but I miss it still. What are your granddaughters called?’
‘Daisy’s the red-haired one. She’s four months younger than the others, but the headmistress thought it’d be best if she started at the same time rather than after Christmas. The twins are Moira and Ellie.’ Naming the twins after their maternal grandmothers had finally healed the rift that Ruby’s thoughtlessness had caused, though it could create confusion at family gatherings.
‘Daisy’s a pretty name,’ Pixie remarked, leaving Ruby to assume that she didn’t think much of Moira and Ellie. ‘Ooh! Is this where you live?’ she gasped when Ruby turned into the drive of the house. ‘It’s ever so big. What does your husband do?’
‘He died in the war.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How long have you lived here?’
‘Twenty-four years.’ Ruby sighed. She led the way around the back rather than go in the front which might disturb Greta.
‘Have you never thought of having the kitchen modernised?’ her new friend enquired, staring aghast at the wooden draining board piled high with dirty dishes, the ancient wooden dresser, the floor with its chipped black and white tiles.
‘I like it as it is.’ Ruby tossed her head. ‘Anyway, it’s not my house. It’s only rented.’ She was wondering if she’d made a mistake in inviting Pixie Shaw for a cup of tea. She wasn’t sure if she liked the woman whose only resemblance to a pixie was that she was very small. Otherwise, she was most unattractive, with pale, watery grey eyes, a flat nose, and a little prim mouth.
‘My husband completely gutted our kitchen. We’ve got lovely new units; lime green laminated and an orange tiled floor. Mind you, we own the place, so it’s worth our while to make improvements. Oh, you’ve got a cat? Or is it a dog?’ She pointed to the earthenware bowl on the floor.
‘It’s a cat’s bowl, but I’m afraid he’s no longer with us. My daughter won’t let me throw it away.’ It had been a terrible year, 1958. So many deaths; Larry and Rob, then Martha Quinlan had died, shortly followed by Fred. One day, when Tiger didn’t appear for his morning milk, she’d gone down into the cellar and found him curled in a ball in his wardrobe. His furry body was cold to the touch when she tried to wake him.
It had been Tiger’s death that sent Greta completely over the edge. She’d wanted t
he twins to play with him, she sobbed.
‘But, love, Tiger was already the oldest cat in the world.’ Ruby had stroked her daughter’s soft, fair hair. ‘We were lucky to have had him for so long.’
‘That only makes it worse. I’d known Tiger for nearly all me life, as well as Martha. Soon, everyone will die and I’ll be the only one left.’
For a long while, she’d put milk out for Tiger every morning, called him in at night, looked for him in the wardrobe. Once, Ruby found her on the old settee they’d used during the raids. She was singing, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, but stopped when her mother appeared. ‘I just heard the siren go,’ she said.
‘She’ll get over it,’ the doctor said complacently. ‘She’s rather a fragile young woman who has had too much grief. Would you like her to go away for a while?’
‘Where to?’
‘A mental home, where she’ll get treatment.’
‘No, thanks. Tell me what sort of treatment and I’ll give it to her here.’
‘You must think of yourself, Mrs O’Hagan.’ The doctor frowned. ‘You’re working yourself into the ground with three small children to look after, not to mention a sick daughter and the folks upstairs. You’re not exactly young.’
‘I’m not exactly old, either. I’ll manage.’
Under no circumstances was Greta to be stressed. She took a tablet every morning to steady her nerves and another at night to make her sleep. The afternoons were her best time, when she usually played with the children. Ruby made sure she watched nothing on television that would upset her and limited her reading to women’s magazines.
Greta, still in her dressing gown, came wandering into the kitchen while Ruby and Pixie were drinking the tea. She smiled dreamily at the stranger. ‘Hello.’
‘This is Pixie,’ Ruby said. ‘Pixie, this is my daughter, Greta.’
‘Are you the one with the twins who’s been ill?’ Pixie enquired with a complete lack of tact.
Before Greta could answer, the telephone rang and Ruby went to answer it. It was Heather wanting to know if the children had settled in school and how was Greta? She rang every day to ask after her sister.
‘The children seemed fine,’ Ruby told her, ‘And so does Greta as it happens. I brought some woman back and I can hear them in the kitchen chattering away like nobody’s business.’
‘What woman?’
‘Her name’s Pixie. She seems a bit silly to me, but Greta obviously likes her.’
‘Make sure she doesn’t upset her.’
‘Of course, love.’
When Ruby returned to the kitchen, Pixie was saying, ‘Three widows, all living under the same roof ! It sounds dead romantic, like a novel.’
Greta nodded. ‘I suppose it does.’
Ruby regarded her daughter with shock and amazement. She couldn’t recall the term ‘widow’ having been mentioned in the house before. Everyone was careful with their language when Greta was around.
‘And your husband never got to see his kids!’ Pixie gasped.
‘No, nor did Heather’s. She hadn’t even told Rob she was pregnant with Daisy.’
‘Oh! That’s too sad for words. My husband, Brian, is thinking about buying a car but, meself, I’ve always considered them dangerous. He mightn’t be so keen once I’ve told him about you and your sister.’
‘Well,’ Ruby said in a loud voice, ‘It’s about time I got on with some work.’
Pixie was better at dropping hints than taking them. Or perhaps the words hadn’t registered. Greta picked up the cups which Ruby noticed had been refilled in her absence. ‘Let’s go in the other room. We can talk while Mam tidies up.’
‘Have you got a picture of your wedding, Grete?’
‘There’s an album somewhere. Do you know where it is, Mam?’
‘On the bottom shelf of the sideboard.’ It hadn’t been opened since the day Larry and Rob had died.
‘Come on, Pix. I’ll show you.’
Ruby sat down heavily when the pair disappeared into the lounge. For years, Greta had been treated with kid gloves, then along had come the tactless Pixie Shaw and her daughter had seemed more than willing to talk about Larry and the day that had forever changed all their lives. Perhaps Greta had been well for a long time, yet they’d all continued to walk on eggshells, treat her as an invalid. It had needed someone like the garrulous, nosy Pixie to show them she was better.
At midday, Pixie announced she had to leave to collect Clint from school. ‘He wants to come home for his dinner.’
‘Bring him round after school one day to play with the girls,’ Greta suggested. ‘Once he’s made friends, he might stay for his dinner.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Pixie enthused. ‘I fancied having him home for the company, but the morning’s just whizzed by and I’ve hardly thought about Clint at all. ’Fact, I’d have stayed longer if it weren’t for him. ’Bye, Grete. See you tomorrow.’
Ruby closed the door on their guest. ‘She’s coming again?’
‘You don’t mind, do you, Mam? We’re going to night school together. It starts next week. Pixie had already put her name down for leatherwork, but I thought I’d learn cake decorating, same as Martha. Pixie’s decided to do it with me.’
‘But Mam, that’s not fair,’ Heather complained that night after tea. She was drying the dishes while Ruby washed. Greta was watching television with the children who were tired after their first day at school. ‘I’ve been asked loads of times at work to go to the pictures with the girls, but I always refuse because I’d sooner stay in with our Greta.’
‘Surely you’re glad she seems so much better?’
‘Yes, but...’ Heather made a face. ‘Perhaps I could go to night school with her and this stupid Pixie.’
‘Don’t be silly, love. You’d be bored out of your mind decorating cakes.’ Ruby sighed as she put a casserole dish on the draining board. Her own mind was numb with the effort of feeding nine people and keeping everywhere clean. Mr Keppel had left to get married years ago, and Iris Mulligan and Mr Hamilton had found a house of their own where they’d gone to live in sin, Ruby supposed. Three students from Liverpool University, young men, now lived upstairs and seemed determined to eat her out of house and home. No matter how much food she made, every scrap had gone by the end of the meal.
Clint Shaw came to play on Saturday morning. The weather had bucked up; the sky was blue and the sun was shining. By the end of the week, Ruby had had enough of Pixie who’d been every day. She was relieved to find Clint a blond angel of a child, very sensitive, with none of his mother’s brashness.
She watched through the window as the children played in the garden. It seemed only yesterday that she’d watched her daughters play with Jake on the same lawn under the same trees.
‘How time flies,’ she murmured.
Now it was Ellie who was the leader, the one who determined what games were to be played. She was the younger of the twins by an hour, yet the more forceful as well as the taller. But Moira wasn’t prepared to be ordered about as Greta had been. There was rarely any argument; Moira just went her own sweet way no matter what Ellie said. They were obviously twins, alike in many ways, different in others. Apart from being fractionally smaller, Moira’s rich brown hair was curly, her eyes a lovely light blue, her chin round, soft and dimpled. She was a self-contained little girl with a gentle, kindly smile, almost adult.
Ellie’s hair was wavy and her expressive cobalt blue eyes were never still. She flashed like lightning around the garden, running the fastest, shouting the loudest, climbing the highest trees. Her pointed chin was always gritted, as if she had great problems to grapple with, and she suffered from a singular lack of patience, though having realised at a very early age it was a waste of time getting angry with her sister, she was inclined to turn on her cousin instead.
Daisy! Ruby’s heart contracted when she looked at her third granddaughter, the solid, freckle-faced, red-haired Daisy, hanging timidly back from the others as usua
l. Such a pretty name for such a plain child – a woman had actually said that once in the clinic when Ruby had taken the girls for an injection.
No one knew where Daisy had got her looks from. The Whites had racked their brains, but neither could recall having had a relative with red hair, no matter how far back they went. Ruby had asked her mother, but Olivia couldn’t help.
‘There aren’t any redheads in my family. As for your father, he had black hair, same as yours, but there could have been loads of ginger-haired O’Hagans in America. I wouldn’t know.’
Ellie White, Rob’s mother, probably didn’t realise she made such an almighty fuss of her glowing, vivacious namesake, rather than her own son’s child, the dull, slow-witted Daisy.
‘How’s Greta been today?’ was the first thing Heather always asked when she came home from work, as if her sister was far more important than her daughter.
Ruby tried to make amends, make a fuss of the little girl who always seemed to be trying hard to look happy. But it was difficult. She didn’t want it to appear too obvious to the twins – Moira wouldn’t mind, she might even understand, but Ellie wouldn’t be pleased if she thought her cousin was Ruby’s favourite. Ellie could be spiteful at times.
Greta and Pixie came out of the lounge where they’d been talking animatedly. ‘Is it all right if me and Pix go into town to do some shopping?’ Greta asked.
‘Me sister-in-law’s getting married in November. I need an outfit for the wedding,’ Pixie put in.
‘We won’t be long, Mam.’
‘Why not ask Heather to come with you?’ It was years since the girls had gone shopping together.
‘She can shop in the lunch hour,’ Greta said airily. ‘Anyroad, she’s in the bath.’
‘All right, but don’t you dare think about going out next Saturday. It’s the twins’ birthday party, there’s twelve children coming, and I’ll need all the help I can get.’ She was already dreading it.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Mam.’
She must have been mad, inviting twelve strange children for four whole hours, when three hours would have done, or even two! The meal had been eaten in a flash and the kitchen floor was covered in jelly which the boys had flicked at the girls. There was also a scattering of crisps and crusts of bread. Two glasses had been broken and the tablecloth was soaked with ginger pop and lemonade.