Ruby's War

by Johanna Winard

  Ruby smiled and went to get her book from the mantelpiece, but then the gate latch clanked and she scuttled away.

  ‘Ruby, don’t go,’ Sadie called, getting up from her seat as the kitchen door closed. ‘It’s only Michael. He’ll have come to see Da. Stay and say hello.’

  Ruby didn’t get as far as the top of the stairs, before her granddad’s bedroom door opened. The effort of dressing quickly had made him wheeze, and as he held on to the banister, she buttoned up his cardigan for him.

  ‘It’s Michael, Granddad. He’ll have brought that cable you’ve been wanting,’ she whispered, tucking the ends of his white muffler inside his collarless shirt. ‘Flatten your hair down. It’s standing up at the back.’

  He nodded breathlessly and patted her arm, before edging his way down to the kitchen. Ruby followed him to the turn in the stairs and then sat with her head against the distempered wall, tucking her skirt over her legs to keep off the draught blowing in under the back door.

  Since the GIs first visited the cottage, Michael and Granddad had spent weeks repairing an old motorbike. Now Granddad’s chest was too bad for him to go outside, but it hadn’t stopped them. Instead of working in the yard or in the Anderson shelter, he got Holt to bring the bits into the kitchen. Then, if Jenny wasn’t there to stop them, they’d spend hours rubbing and polishing, until Granddad’s breathing gave out. Like Granddad, Michael loved engines, and Granddad said he had a feel for them. She knew that was probably why he liked Holt the best: he didn’t get tired of discussing motorbike engines, or listening to Granddad’s tales about his time in the trenches in France. She supposed Michael enjoyed the stories because they were new to him.

  Ruby waited on the stairs, listening to Sadie moving around, hearing the cups chink and the sound of Michael’s boots on the flags as he carried the tray back into the front room for her. Then she tiptoed downstairs into the gloomy kitchen and put her ear close to the door.

  ‘Thanks, Michael,’ Sadie said. ‘Just put the pot down on the hearth. How are things with you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Here, let me pour the water into the pot. I got a letter from Arleen a couple of days ago. Is that enough water?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. I can manage to pour it out, but we’ll let it brew first.’

  Ruby perched on the edge of the kitchenette and prised the living-room door open until she could see a sliver of light. Holt and Arleen had married just before he came to England and she lived with his parents, because they couldn’t find a flat of their own.

  ‘How is she?’ Sadie asked.

  ‘Things are getting worse. She’s real fed up. There’s not much room and her mother wants her to go back home, but I don’t want her to, ’cos her brothers don’t like me.’

  ‘How’s the rationing over there? Is it as bad as here?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. There are petrol and meat shortages. Problem is, Arleen works in a department store, and it’s running short on some things, and part of the money Arleen makes is commission on what she sells. She’s thinking about munitions work to get more money. Her brothers and her mom don’t like the idea.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind trying munitions,’ Sadie said. ‘I suppose it depends what job you get. It’s good money. They’re strict about things like smoking. Have to be. They check you for fags and matches and any metal. You can’t even have hairpins. Lou has this mate, and she said they have a long way to walk between buildings and a lot of it’s underground.’

  ‘That’s not fooled Jerry, though,’ Granddad said. ‘They even know the colour they’ve painted the railings.’

  The kitchen was getting darker, and Ruby could hear rain, sharp and hard, on the kitchen window. She shivered and hoped that Holt wouldn’t stay for tea. Since the night at Doctor Grey’s, she didn’t want to see any of the GIs – not even Con. She didn’t want to see anyone. She knew Sadie would be disappointed that it wasn’t Bo who had called, but Bo, Wes and Con were away a lot of the time now, driving trucks up and down to the ports and the airfields. Holt could still visit, because someone at the camp had found out he was good at mending things and now he stayed there most of the time to repair the engines. She rested her head against the frosted glass in the kitchenette and peered into the living room. Granddad and Holt were sitting at the table with their heads together.

  ‘Da, can you do the curtains?’ Sadie asked. ‘This poultice Ruby’s put on my arm is pulling.’

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ he said. ‘If you can feel it pulling, it means it’s drawing the badness out of your arm. It’s working.’

  ‘I know, but it hurts like mad.’

  ‘Well, off you go and get one of Jenny’s headache tablets from upstairs. That should move it.’

  Before Sadie could get out of the chair, Ruby was across the kitchen. She took the stairs two at a time and rushed headlong into the darkening bedroom. In the half-light, her foot struck something that clattered across the floor. Her stomach twisted and she scrambled for the blackout curtain and the light. On the floor, she could see Sadie’s upended dish and wash jug. Since the attack, no matter how carefully she washed, her skin didn’t feel clean. At first, she’d used an old bucket, carrying it up to her room, rubbing at the long gouges scored into her thighs, making them sting and bleed. Then one morning Sadie had caught her and brought in the pretty blue-and-white set from her washstand. Ruby picked up the jug and the dish, breathlessly fingering each surface, fearing a chip or crack. The soapy water inside was icy, and when she’d finished, she put them on the chair for safety and curled up on the bed.

  She’d learnt to call what happened that night an accident. When Johnny brought her home, Jenny had been waiting up for her. He’d helped her over to Granddad’s chair, and Jenny stood in front of her, wiping her hands on her apron and looking from her to Johnny and back again, but she hadn’t said anything. They’d left her. At first, she’d heard angry voices in the kitchen, and then he’d brought the blanket from her bed, wrapped her up and given her brandy. She’d shaken so much the glass rattled on her teeth. After she’d finished it, Jenny bathed her face and told her she must say that she’d fallen over in the dark, and since then, it hadn’t been mentioned.

  Ruby rolled over and looked at the cottage on her rug. Before Con kissed her, when she’d looked at the rug, she’d imagined the soldier who’d given her the letter was coming home to his girl, Maggie Joy. After the kiss, Ruby had imagined that, instead of Maggie Joy, she was in the bedroom under the thatched roof, sitting in front of the mirror on the dressing table, listening for the sound of the front gate opening. Sometimes she wasn’t listening, she was reading Con’s letter, and when he came to the door it was a surprise. Then he’d take hold of her hand and tell her that he’d come to spend his last two days with her, before going off to war. Other times, she imagined that he was coming home for good. They would walk in the garden, looking at the lupins, and he would tell her he wanted to marry her and take her to America. But now, instead of imagining that gentle kiss, there were yellow teeth biting into her lip and filling her mouth and nose with their sour taste.

  The next day Sadie was feeling better. After dinner she volunteered to walk into the village for the shopping, and Granddad, who’d been awake in the night with his cough, went for a nap. As Ruby was clearing the plates in the kitchen, she heard two quick rat-a-tat-tats on the front door. Guessing it must be Johnny Fin – who always did two quick raps on the knocker – she hurried to the front door wiping her hands on the tea towel. When she opened the door, Doctor Grey raised his trilby.

  Doctor Grey’s car – with Dick behind the wheel – was waiting by the gate, pulsating softly in its own small off-white cloud. She couldn’t quite see if there was someone in the back seat of the car, because the hedge was in the way. She stood on tiptoe and thought that she could make out the top of a familiar cloche hat. Her stomach squeezed with excitement; she was glad that she’d spent the morning cleaning the brasses and had just dusted the crumbs fr
om the table, but then Dick rolled the car forward and she could see that the back seat was empty: Doctor Grey was alone.

  He followed her into the cottage, and putting his bag and a parcel on the table, drew her towards the window, turning her chin to the left and then the right. He asked about her injuries, where she had fallen and why. Ruby recited her well-practised tale. Doctor Grey raised an eyebrow, and when he asked if she’d been alone, she touched her lip and nodded. The parcel contained the tinned peaches, the present from Alice she’d dropped when Rollo had grabbed her, and some sheet music she’d left behind after one of the fundraising concerts.

  ‘It’s probably better,’ he said, ‘now you’re getting older, to look for more permanent employment. In the factory, perhaps? It would be more patriotic,’ he said, replacing his hat and moving towards the door. ‘I’m sure Alice will be happy to give you a reference.’

  Jenny found the tin of peaches still on the table when she and Sadie arrived home.

  ‘Well the mill’s not going to take you on looking like that,’ she said. ‘You should have said you wanted paying until you could work.’

  Sadie handed the two bottles of stout she was carrying to Ruby and went to the looking glass over the dresser.

  ‘Oh, Ma,’ she said, rolling her eyes at Ruby through the mirror, ‘it’s not their fault she fell on the way home. And anyway, if you’d remembered to tell her to wait for Johnny, she might not—’

  ‘I thought …’ Ruby whispered, one of the bottles of stout slipping from her fingers and crashing to the floor. ‘I thought … I didn’t know he was coming … I’d have waited and …’

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Jenny shouted. ‘I’ve Henry struggling to breathe, and you … and only my money. He told me she was only here for a few weeks, and now she’s stopping for good. And who’s going to pay for that? Not him. Not her. Not you. I’m the only one as is working here.’

  ‘What’s goin’ on?’ Henry called between coughs.

  ‘Are you happy now you’ve got him up?’ Jenny hissed, rescuing the second bottle from Ruby’s trembling fingers. ‘Ruby, make yourself useful and go and see what he wants. Sadie, stop gawping at yourself and get a cloth and clean this mess up.’

  ‘I’ll get paid,’ Sadie said, red blotches appearing on her neck as she turned to face her mother. ‘When Jack Holloway was hurt—’

  ‘You think you’re so bloody cocky. Blokes get compensation if they’re hurt ’cos they’ve families depending on them,’ Jenny said, her hand shaking as she poured water from the kettle into a waiting pot. ‘You’ll not. You’ll be depending on me, and don’t forget it. Ruby, bloody shift yourself. Go and see what Henry wants.’

  The day after the argument, Sadie hugged her. ‘She’s upset,’ she said. ‘She feels guilty. That night, New Year’s Eve, Johnny had called to see Da and he was asleep. He’d said he’d call for you, but you’d have to wait until he’d finished at the pub, and she forgot to say. If you’d been with Johnny on the way home, you might not have fallen and then … Well, you were going to leave the Greys anyway. She shouldn’t have let Johnny think it was his fault. That was mean. I reckon it’s because they’re not married, her and Henry. If anything happens, we’ll be out. She’s scared.’

  Ruby nearly told her, nearly confessed about the lie, but if she’d spoken about it, that might have made it more real. As the bruises faded and the cuts healed, there were times, when she was busy, that she would forget it had happened, except that it felt strange not going to the house any more, and she missed Mrs Grey and Alice. She tried to stay out of Jenny’s way when she could and made a bit of money, once her face was presentable, cleaning books for Mrs Bland. The other thing that had changed was that she didn’t like the dark, but Mrs Bland always waited at her door until she reached the cottage, and then she would call goodnight.

  Although Mrs Bland’s cottage was very cold and smelt strongly of her cat, Ruby gradually developed a liking for the old lady. Mrs Bland always treated her as though she were a visitor, even when she was paying her to do some cleaning. She would ask her opinions about the books she’d given her to read and she really listened to her answers. Tonight, she’d been invited just to visit, and they sat together knitting blankets for homeless families and listening to the news on the radio.

  ‘I think we should celebrate such good news, Ruby, dear,’ she said, at the end of the broadcast, and offered Ruby a liquorice toffee from a small paper bag. ‘The Germans are going to be forced to use their Junker 52s to relieve their army outside Stalingrad. The front’s eighty miles away now and halfway to Rostov. Hundreds shot down. It makes one feel so humble, does it not, and so proud.’

  Mrs Bland’s delight at the destruction of the encircled German army made her knitting even more holey than usual and added to the blanket’s irregular shape.

  ‘Now tell me what did you think of Tess? Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ Ruby said, concentrating on her knitting, ‘understand why Alec d’Urberville was so unkind. He was supposed to be a gentleman and educated. How can you … How could she know? When someone is kind, and is … well … How do you know? Men … I mean, people … If someone … I mean, how can you tell? How would you ever know? Or they might be like Angel …’

  ‘No one ever really can look in another’s heart, dear. You can sometimes watch and judge …’

  ‘But when you can’t. When someone seems nice, or harmless and then …’

  ‘The important thing is that you don’t lose faith in yourself. Life is hard, dear. A pretty young woman is vulnerable. Poor Tess had so little power over her own life. We women must fight to have control. We have the vote, and one thing this awful war might do is give us more sway. In the last war, women were able to show that they could do men’s jobs, and now they are doing it again. Money, financial independence, is so important. In their relationships with men … well that’s more difficult. Many, most women, you could say, are economic and emotional slaves.’

  ‘You mean because men get all the say at home? Granddad doesn’t. Though he does rent the cottage. I suppose we would all have to go, if he said so. It’s not the same as a real slave. We would be free to go, if we could find somewhere. Why do you think the black people stayed in the south? Why didn’t they all go to the north? Con’s grandma did. Do you remember, he said she was an educated lady, but she still thought of the white family as her betters?’

  On the opposite side of the weak, smoky fire, Mrs Bland sucked contentedly on her sweet and considered the question.

  ‘There were threats and brutality, of course, but also the slave owners knew that the most successful way to control their slaves was by encouraging loyalty.’ Mrs Bland stopped knitting and peered at Ruby over her glasses. ‘Loyalty is a very powerful means of control,’ she said. ‘They used slaves to help in the houses. The women wet-nursed their white owners’ babies, and house slaves were brought up as part of the family. Then, even when they were freed, some were still tied emotionally to the people who’d exploited them.’

  ‘Like Con’s grandmother?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘From what Con and the others have said, where they live it’s still not equal.’

  ‘No. Competition for jobs has always been a factor, of course, but the black people,’ Mrs Bland said, wrapping the discarded knitting around her legs, ‘are treated differently, solely because of their colour. I think now there is a fear that after the war, when the black soldiers go home, they will want to change things. Here, when the men come back, they’ll want their women back in the kitchen, as they did before, but many women will want to keep their freedom and financial independence; they’ll be used to making decisions for themselves. Things will be different for the young. Young men like Con will want to change things for their people. Such a charming young man, don’t you think? Loves reading. Now, that’s always a sign of a sensitive man. He’s read this one,’ she said, dislodging the cat that was sitting on the book and handing i
t to Ruby. ‘You could too, and then you might ask him how he enjoyed it, the next time he calls to see your grandfather.’

  It was almost a fortnight later before Ruby saw Con. He came to the cottage one evening just after tea to see her granddad, the collar of his overcoat pulled up over his ears.

  ‘I’ve come to pick Henry up,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘We … We have a bit of business.’

  Her granddad, whose chest was improving, had been nodding over his newspaper, but he was quickly on his feet and hurrying out to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, lad,’ he called.

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Jenny’s working extra shifts and Sadie’s at the pictures with Bo.’

  ‘He said you’d hurt yourself. Are you okay?’

  Ruby blushed and nodded, as an oath and the sound of a clattering came from the kitchen.

  ‘I’d best go and see what he’s up to,’ she said.

  Granddad had dragged out an old mac from under the stairs and was pulling on the boots he used in the garden.

  ‘You’re not going to the pub dressed like that.’

  ‘Pub? Ah, well, no. Well, if Jenny asks.’

  ‘It’s cold out.’

  ‘I’m wrapped up. This old mac’s really warm. Now, we don’t want Jenny to worry, and I’ll probably be back before she is.’

  ‘But where—?’

  ‘Never mind about that.’

  ‘It’s not fire-watching …’

  ‘Fire-watching? That’s right. I’ve not been since before Christmas. I thought I’d see how they was—’

  ‘Then why is Con—?’

  ‘Now, don’t you worry, Ruby, love,’ he said, hurrying back into the living room and pulling his cap from the peg near the door. ‘I’ll be back in no time. Come on, young Con.’

  In the living room, Con stamped his feet, warmed his hands on the fire and listened to the conversation in the kitchen with interest. He wasn’t very clear about Henry’s plans. He’d agreed to come along because recently, without a late pass to go into town, he’d found the local pubs fairly dull. The dances in the villages were fine, but not half as lively as the ones in town, and the cinema close to the camp was real small and got so full that sometimes the audience’s cigarette smoke almost blotted out the screen.