by Daisy White
“What did she do then?” I didn’t know Rita Stonehill but I’m becoming fascinated by her. The newspaper picture flashes back into my mind. What was she thinking when her portrait was taken? What was she thinking before she jumped?
“When we were speaking to her mum,” James says, “Rita’s dad came back halfway through the interview and chucked us out, but we got a bit of background. The family are devastated of course, but it seems like when she left school, she went right off the rails. She joined any protest going, went with any boy going. Then she started hanging around the racecourse, and after that started seeing Joey.”
“Who knows what she was thinking? We might never know, and it’s just sad she felt that was the only way out.” Kenny rubs a hand through his black hair, making it stand up more than ever. His grey eyes narrow against the thin blue plumes of smoke.
“They just don’t seem to be bothered that she’s dead,” I observe again, catching her name followed by raucous laughter. It’s getting to me, and I feel like yelling at someone. “In fact, they seem to find it funny. They’re more concerned with the Derby Trial not producing a winner.”
“It’s a big deal for us, the Trial.” Donovan has been eavesdropping, and joins our conversation, his expression serious. “This is our livelihood, and now Tommy’s left with a lame horse. I think he just nicked his fetlock, and hopefully it’ll mend pretty fast and we’ll get him back on gallops. The owner’s mad as fire, saying it was Tommy’s fault, that he shouldn’t have put Alex up because now the stupid lad has a broken leg and can’t ride his other horses—”
“That’s crazy!” James slams his empty glass back down on the table. “It was Rita’s fault they all fell, and we still don’t know if it was intentional or just an accident.”
I’m surprised by his outburst, then I notice Joanna coming back from the toilet. She has clearly heard exactly what he said, as he clearly meant her to. She slips back into her seat next to James and smiles at me. Her face has been carefully made up, but I’m close enough to see that she’s been crying. I cover her hand with mine, and give it a gentle squeeze. She looks up and nods, like I’ve spoken, and then moves her hand away.
Donovan and a couple of the other lads are still arguing. Pearl, trapped in the middle, looks bored.
“Doesn’t matter why or what, it screwed up the race and that’s all people care about,” says a lad with a thin, hard face and pimples.
Donovan puts up his hand. “I know, but there’s a reason for that. The owners put a lot of money into buying these horses, and paying trainers and jockeys. They expect returns, and if it doesn’t happen they have to blame someone and it’s usually the trainer. Moses’s yard is lucky Love Me Do wasn’t injured. But think of all that work, and all those people who depend on the horses running, and running well. Then some silly girl . . . yeah, sure I’m sorry she’s dead, but she spoilt everything. So she might have had a tiff with her boyfriend, or perhaps she had a grudge against someone else, but she could’ve killed a horse!”
Another boy joins in. “And then we had the coppers round all day yesterday, asking nosy questions. Moses had about six lads hiding up in the stable loft. Nobody wants to speak to the law, they’ll get you for anything, and we’re none of us angels, if you know what I mean.”
I nod like I’m agreeing, and part of me does see their point, but I can sense that Joanna is seething. James is being his usual attentive and romantic self, but she replies to his questions in monosyllables. Eventually she says she’d like to go home. Despite the interesting conversation, and the possibility of picking up some more newspaper-worthy stories, this time James is quick to make his goodbyes, and he escorts her out.
Before she goes, she leans down quickly with her lips close to my ear. “I meant it, Ruby. I don’t believe Rita killed herself.”
I look up at her, and she gives me a firm little nod. I open my mouth to say something, but the moment is gone. James puts his arm around her shoulders and they walk out. I can see her eyes shining. At least someone is shedding tears for Rita Stonehill. Her mum and dad too of course, and Eve mentioned some brothers. What about her boyfriend?
“Is Joey here?”
“Nah. He’s stayed back at the yard.”
“I expect he’s really upset,” I say.
“He’s probably got another girl already. Girls like Rita are two a penny round here. She wasn’t anything special.”
The horse talk flows around me. The pub is full of hard-eyed, sharp featured skinny boys, discussing the merits of various horses. A couple of jockeys are bantering about losing weight. Their girls sit around, looking bored.
By eleven, Kenny is ready to go. Pearl is staying with Donovan at the yard, which apparently is strictly against the rules, but nobody seems to mind. The lads sleep above the stables, and the trainer and his wife live in the main house, so there is nobody to witness any night-time misbehaviour. The cool, sweet night air lifts my mood, and Kenny brushes my hand as we walk back to the car. Is it deliberate?
“What was up with James’s new chick?” Kenny pumps the pedal hard, turning the ignition over again and again. Eventually the car splutters sullenly into life and he reverses jerkily, bumping over the grass back onto the road.
“Joanna?” I explain the connection with Rita, and he whistles. “Poor girl, having to sit there and listen to all that rubbish. I’m surprised James brought her tonight.”
“Did Victoria get her photographs developed?” I ask Kenny after a while. “I tried to phone her from the salon, but there was no answer.”
The little car struggles back up the hill towards Brighton. Kenny changes gear with an effort, and winds up a window that has been steadily sliding down throughout our journey. “Yes. Nothing exciting, unfortunately. She has two that didn’t develop properly, and she’s going to try again. The shots of the race are great, she really does have an eye for photography. There are some when Rita was jumping out, but all you can see is the crowd around her and her pink dress flying out in the breeze as she goes under the rail. I told her to take them down to the police station just in case, but I don’t think they’ll help the investigation.”
“Did you interview Joey Castle?”
“No, I couldn’t get near him. He’s was out of hospital yesterday though, and back out riding this morning. They’re tough nuts these lads. He won’t want to lose any rides, so he needs to show he’s fit and well. Bad luck on Alex Davies though, with that broken leg. He’ll have to miss a few races. Lucky Basil’s Pride trotted up almost sound this afternoon, or they’d be a horse and rider down. Alex often rides for both the Brighton stables. Jockeys as good as him are hard to come by. Look, that’s Tommy’s place, Tegdown Stables, over on your left.”
I squint into the darkness, just making out the white gates of the entrance, a rambling farmhouse and the dark shape of a square stable yard. “Very nice.”
We cruise downhill towards the lights of Brighton, and grind to a stop in front of Johnnie’s salon. The road is full of shadows, and our flat is in darkness, no lights at the windows. “Thanks for the lift, Ken. Are you out on Friday night?”
“Of course. I think Johnnie’s organising something, so we’ll go along with that. Probably another house party.”
I pull the handle on the car door, and it comes off in my hand. “Oh God, Kenny. I’m so sorry. I’ve wrecked your car!” I can’t help giggling though. I give the door a shove but it’s stuck fast.
It would have been more sensible for Kenny to get out of his door and walk round to help from the outside, but for some reason, possibly the amount of alcohol we’ve imbibed, he leans across me and starts pushing the metal panels. The window slides down, but the door remains shut tight.
Kenny swears, and goes to move back into his seat, but as he does so, somehow he’s leaning right over me, practically on my lap. He’s so close I can’t help placing a kiss on his open lips. He’s so obviously surprised that I almost ruin the moment by giggling. For a moment we just stare
at each other. The tall buildings on either side of the road cast long shadows, so we’re hidden in the inky blackness, squashed together amid the smell of petrol fumes and mouldy seats. Then he kisses me back, and I slide my hands up his back, under his jacket, pulling him closer.
Eventually we pull apart, panting, and we’re both laughing.
“How much have you had to drink tonight, Ruby Baker?” Kenny grins at me, one arm draped loosely across my shoulders. His eyes are bright with mischief, and the moon highlights the bones of his rugged face, his boxer’s nose, and the feathers of tar-black hair that touch his shirt collar.
I snuggle into his side, and it feels just right. “No more than usual.”
“How come we never did this before?” Kenny shakes his head. “I tell you one thing, Rubes, you’re a better kisser than I imagined, and believe me I imagined plenty . . .” He pulls me back until I’m sitting on his lap, wedged between his legs and the steering wheel.
When I finally creep into the flat, Mary stirs sleepily, and Summer is lying on her back snoring. There is nobody to interrogate me. I pour a glass of water and strip off before falling into bed. Kenny! Who would have thought? He’s pretty good himself in the kissing department. Smiling, I drift off with the moonlight full in my face.
But if I’m hoping for a peaceful night’s sleep after my romantic little interlude, clearly someone isn’t listening.
The clock is ticking towards three in the morning when I wake from a dream of Rita standing alone by the white railings. She turns, and I can see she’s been crying, her eyes are bright with tears, like Joanna’s were last night. All around is the sound of jeering laughter. I reach out a hand but she pulls away. Her face changes to Mum’s and the horses come charging up the hill. She jumps, even as I try desperately to grab her dress and pull her to safety.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes crossly, trying to rid my head of the ragged images that spin through my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve had nightmares.
“Are you alright, Rubes?” Mary is propped up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes.
“Just a bad dream.” I cast an anxious look at the sleeping baby, but she never stirs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Were you thinking about Rita?”
“Yes. I know it’s stupid. I didn’t even know her, but now she’s dead and most people who did know her seem to think it’s one big joke.” I can hear the bitterness in my voice. I don’t tell Mary that Mum seems to be back in my head, because even she doesn’t know the whole truth about that night. Horribly, I feel ashamed for Mum, and guilty that I hadn’t seen it coming. I need to keep reminding myself that Mum didn’t do it. I took the knife away and traded another life for hers. My abusive stepdad was a small price to pay for her sanity and happiness. It was, really.
I pick at a loose thread on my sheet, focusing on the sweet serenity of the sleeping child, forcing myself back to the present.
Mary is silent for a long time, and I wonder if she’s drifted back to sleep. Finally she says, “If she did mean to kill herself, she must have been pretty desperate. Neither of us are churchgoers are we, but I was just thinking that perhaps she’s at peace now and maybe that’s what she wanted. Nobody’s laughing at her where she is now.”
Mary’s soft words are like a blessing or a prayer, and they seem to echo gently around the room long after she has gone back to sleep.
Chapter Six
“What have you been up to, Ruby Baker?” Johnnie demands the next morning. His turquoise-blue eyes are crinkled at the corners, and his wide mouth curls into a smile. As usual, an immaculate suit completes the picture, and he flicks a bit of dust from his lapel while he waits for my answer. “Come on, I sense gossip waiting to be told!”
“Nothing. Really! I haven’t been up to anything. We had a quiet night at the Black Jug, and Kenny drove me home,” I tell him, meeting his eyes innocently. I’m not quite ready to tell anyone what happened last night, even Mary. It’s a little secret, and I want to nurture it a bit longer before our friends find out.
“Hmm, I know that look. It’s not so much what you’ve been up to, as who . . .”
Eve walks past with a mop and bucket, fixing him with her best gimlet stare. “I hope you’re not being filthy, Johnnie. A few nights in London last week and there’s no stopping you, is there? I hope you’re staying back here where you belong for a while. I was only saying to the girls the other day, you need to settle down and find yourself a nice wife.”
He abandons teasing me and smiles at Eve, who always treats him like a naughty but adorable younger brother. “Yes, I know I should. My mother says the same thing. Did you miss me last week? I had a few things to sort out with my parents, and my dreadful brother insisted I take him out for a drink, but I’m back for a while now, Eve darling. So sweet that you worry about me!”
“Who says I missed you? We need another pair of hands, and it might as well be yours as anyone else’s!” She swills water over the lino floor, narrowly missing Johnnie’s shiny brown shoes. “Now go and do some work, you two, or we’ll have customers in and we won’t be ready. Ruby, what’s happened to Mary this morning? She’s normally back from White Oak by now.”
“I don’t know. She went at the usual time,” I say, slightly worried. Summer used to be a bit difficult settling with her babysitter, but now she’s older she seems to love her. “Angela’s on the telephone though, so if she is running late she can give us a call.”
Johnnie claps his hands. “Okay, ladies, time to get going. Rubes, can you do the towels, angel? I’ll stock up, and, Eve, can you start cuts if I’m still unloading that delivery?”
We start work, and just as the first customer enters the pink and gold salon, Mary runs up the hill.
“What happened to you?” I ask, concerned. It’s quite a way to the White Oak Estate where her babysitter lives, but she’s never usually this late back. “Is Summer alright?”
“She’s fine. Stupid bus didn’t turn up! I had to walk halfway down to the seafront and get another one.” Mary wipes sweat from her forehead and throws her pink cardigan into the coat cupboard.
“I left you a cup of tea out the back, but it’s probably cold by now,” I tell her, heading for the desk as the phone begins to ring.
“Hallo, Johnnie’s, Ruby speaking.”
“Is that Ruby Baker?” A male voice, harsh but a little tentative.
“Yes. Who’s that?” My first thought was Will, my sometime stepbrother, but Will is a Manchester lad and his northern accent is strong. This man sounds like he’s from around here.
“You don’t know me, but you’ll have heard of my sister. Her name is Rita Stonehill.”
‘Is’ not ‘was.’ I take a deep breath, willing myself to be calm. The voice is hard, almost aggressive, and somehow you know the owner is not someone you’d want to meet on a dark night. “I have heard of your sister, and I’m so sorry that she died.”
Silence, and then all I can hear is slow, quiet breathing. I wonder if I can end the call and blame a technical hitch. This man is giving me the creeps, but then his sister has just died, so I can’t really ignore him.
“Were you there when she died?” he asks.
“I was at the racecourse, yes . . . Are you really her brother, or are you a reporter?” Ken and James have said there has been a lot of interest from the nationals on this story.
The voice roughens. “Bastards, those reporters. Have you seen what they’re saying about her?”
“I . . . No, I haven’t seen any papers today. Sorry, but I need to get on with work. Why are you calling me?”
“I’ll catch up with you later, Ruby. We need to talk. Joanna says you’re alright.”
He rings off, leaving me staring at the receiver, heart thundering. Joanna told Rita’s brother about me. Why would she do that?
I drag myself back to the present, and the queue of customers waiting for tea and biscuits. That was . . . weird. Mary is dragging a new box of nail polishes out of a
wooden crate when I rush out to make the tea.
“Rita Stonehill’s brother just rang up.”
“What? Did you say Rita’s brother? Why?” Mary picks up a long list and starts ticking off our new stock.
“I don’t know. He was all strange, and in the end just said he’d catch up with me later. I told you about Rita’s friend, Joanna, who’s going out with James, didn’t I? Well, he just said, ‘Joanna says you’re alright’ and rang off.”
Mary looks up sharply. “I’d be careful, Rubes. Ted says the Stonehill family can be a bit funny. He used to work with one of the brothers, and apparently he got the sack because he was stealing from the till. They’re not a good lot — even Rita wasn’t.”
“No. I sort of got that impression last night. Everyone was talking about Rita, but they were sort of laughing about her.”
Mary studies me suddenly, her eyes sharp. “Who else were you with last night?”
“Oh, everyone. Ken brought me home though . . .” I can’t help the grin that stretches across my cheeks.
Mary squeals. “No! Are you and Kenny, you know . . ?”
“I don’t know. It only happened last night, but I think he might be keen on doing it again.”
Mary flings her arms around my neck. “I’m so pleased for you! Kenny’s adored you for ages, and he’s such a darling. Naughty maybe, but still a darling.”
Johnny appears in the doorway. “Talking about me again, are you? Come on, Mary, I’ve got another three boxes to shift. Ruby, stop distracting her!”
I’m pretty curious about the phone call this morning, so as soon as I can, I grab the discarded newspaper from the table outside the salon. Johnnie bought a few wrought iron chairs and tables and when we’ve got customers waiting, we offer them a seat outside in the sunshine, and free tea and biscuits. There are several magazines, and a few papers on one of the chairs, so I dump my tray and hastily collect the dirty crockery whilst flicking through the Brighton Herald. The story about Rita is on page three, and I’m pleased to note that neither Ken nor James is responsible, because I can immediately see why her brother is so upset. It’s a sleazy little piece: