Ruby Tuesday

by Debbie Chase

  So far, Priscilla has kept religiously to the visiting arrangements, and every time Michael arrived to pick her up, Leah was there, her little Mickey Mouse bag at her feet, ready and waiting at the door for Daddy. As well as cheering me up in my present miserable state, her presence in our lives seemed to have brought the whole family together. Mum was even closer to Nan and Grandad now, and any animosity she once had for them for advising her to give Michael up had totally disappeared. So, apart from my sad old story, everybody was happy.

  Ah, I suddenly thought, looking around the bedroom with a keen eye. At least when Rose moves out to be with Steve, this room will be mine, all mine. I can get a double bed, and the divider can go on the scrap heap. I gazed around, making mental plans for the refurbishment, excitement coursing through me at the thought of a room of my own because, obviously, Rose and I wouldn’t be buying a place together now.

  A band of yellow sunshine streamed through the window, and, peering between the curtains, I saw that the black clouds from earlier had disappeared and the sun glowed in a blue sky speckled with fluffy tendrils of cloud. Deciding that I would go for a walk, I picked up my rucksack, automatically filling it with the things I would need—a water bottle, purse, keys, and lastly but most importantly, my phone. Just as I had picked it up and was putting it in my bag, it beeped, right there in my hand, jumping like a living thing in my palm.

  Curiously I glanced at the screen to see the little text message icon flashing. Pressing the icon with a shaking finger, my heart beating hard and fast, I saw that at last, after all the waiting and wondering, it was from James. I read it eagerly, taking in all the words.

  Hey Ruby, didn’t like to get in touch sooner, but I have to know. Did you find what you were looking for in St. Malo? Jx

  ~*~

  The whole world seemed muted and hazy as I stepped out of the empty house and walked down the garden path. Mum, Dad, and Rose must have gone out earlier without me realizing it. The garden was neat and tidy, baking under the spring heat, the earth in the borders dry and crumbly and the flowers drooping their heads.

  The High Street was busy, so busy that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get through the crowds. What was going on? The sound of a brass band playing a rousing tune carried on the salty breeze, and as I walked nearer, I saw banners strung across the street, the words Happy St. George’s Day written across them in thick black letters. Of course, it was April, already two months since I’d set off on my wild goose chase to France. Bunting of red, white, and blue fluttered merrily amongst the trees, and people, clapping, dancing, and waving flags, were gathered around an acoustic singer—a young man who, I saw with a pang, looked a bit like Blake—and jugglers and stilt walkers paraded up and down the cobbles. Several young people were giving out programs of the activities for the day.

  Fast food outlets were going a storm, long queues straggling across the road, and the smell of frying onions, burgers, and chips hung in the air. Definitely a recipe for every seagull’s dream. Kids ran around with their faces painted like tigers and lions and dogs, as well as fairies, monsters, and even the distinctive red and white St. George’s flag. Adults too! Leah would have loved it. Groups of students I recognized from school walked along in packs, glued to their phones.

  I gave Mum and Dad a cheerful wave as I saw them going into the Coal Exchange with their friends Lenny and Sue, Dad rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the specialty pizza—and a beer or two with Michael, I’d no doubt. Then I caught an unexpected glimpse of Rose and Steve laughing companionably as they sat on the harbor wall licking giant ice-cream cones.

  The sweet, cloying smell of incense weaved from the open door of the tarot shop, reminding me of the reading I’d had and what she’d said about me having to choose between two lovers. While I was glad to see that the shop was still flourishing—there were loads of people browsing inside—she hadn’t really been that accurate with my reading…well, not the romantic side of it anyway. The prediction about my job had been spot on, but the choice between two lovers? No, that was a realization, not a choice.

  A squealing microphone suddenly burst into a loud crackle, and the mayor of the local council, wearing the full regalia, took to the tiny makeshift stage and began to thank everybody for turning up to make St. George’s Day so special. The crowd cheered wildly as he regaled them with funny stories, praised the lovely hot weather, and reminded them again of the exciting, fun-filled program for the day while waving one of the glossy brochures like a flag.

  The band started up again with a jolly tune as I tried to push my way through the heaving throng, hot bodies barricading me from every angle. I battled against the oncoming tide of people, pushing and shoving until at last I was clear and, hurrying away, left the St. Georges festivities behind me. I carried on to Warblington, along the windy country lanes, past the eerie Pook Lane, where supposedly, ghosts of ethereal young ladies and lumbering black funeral carriages carrying tiny coffins had been seen by the locals—as well as the headless horseman, no doubt! Past the remains of Warblington Manor, just a tower spiraling up into the clouds, and so to St. Thomas a Becket Church, squatting low amidst the tombstones as a cat about to spring at a bird.

  A large sign propped up against the old wrought iron cemetery gates beckoned me, and, moving closer, I saw that it read, Church open 12 noon till 4.00 p.m. in honor of St. Georges Day. Please come inside. The sun shone even brighter, and the intense heat was burning into the top of my head, so, curious and needing a breather, I slipped into the gaping black hole of the doorway, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim as I went in.

  The church was empty and quiet, the old musty smell strong. I breathed it in, reveling in how old this place was, the history, as I wandered around slipping silently amongst the tiny wooden benches admiring the ancient tiled floor, immaculately shiny in the sunlight that beamed in dusty shafts through the beautiful stained glass windows. Standing at the nave, I bowed my head to Jesus, who drooped so melancholy from a beautiful ornate cross.

  Sitting on a bench quite alone, although who knows what ghosts and ghoulies hovered around me, I took my phone from my rucksack and once again read the text message I’d received from James. A text message that had made my heart pound with excitement and relief. And how strange it was that just as I had made up my mind to get in touch, he had beat me to it after all. It must be all the praying I’d done.

  I read it again, realizing that, just as I hadn’t dared to text him, he also hadn’t dared to text me. It didn’t look like his mum or Lara had told him about my visit to them because he obviously knew nothing of what had happened in St. Malo. I was surprised about that—I thought they would have gotten in touch straight away and relayed every word to him. It had taken a while, but I knew now what I wanted to say, so I scrolled to messages, my hands shaking as I tapped it out on the screen. No, there was nothing in St. Malo. I’ve realized that everything I ever wanted, I’d left right here at home. Rx

  I waited then, for an answering beep, for a message to pop up on the screen, but there was nothing, and time went by, loud as a ticking clock in my head. Silently I rose to my feet and left the church, and walked out into the now blindingly hot sunshine and through the cemetery, stopping once again to read the heart-shaped stone for the little girl, Becky, and then wandering to James’s dad’s stone, where I saw that new flowers had recently been put. Lilies this time, sheaves of fragrant creamy white lilies.

  I loitered for a few minutes, wondering if James would come here—he would probably guess that I would be out walking today and remember that we’d met here before on that snowy day a few months ago. But he didn’t come. There was no tall figure, a beaming smile on his wide open face, walking towards me, arms outstretched for a hug. With an awful sinking feeling, I thought that maybe my text had put him off. Maybe his text had just been a friendly inquiry, and my answer had thrown him, embarrassed him even.

  With a jo
lt, I realized that, because I hadn’t been in touch, he might have assumed that my visit to St. Malo had been successful and Blake was now mine and that James had simply been trying to tie up loose ends with an old girlfriend before he moved on. Or maybe he had decided to take up the new contract in the Southampton branch of Sonic and was just wanting to say goodbye. That had never occurred to me before, even though his mum, Jacky, had said he’d been thinking about going for the new job.

  Oh, James, I thought desperately. Why won’t you text? Making me jump, my phone pulsed and lit up in my hand, where I’d been holding it tightly as if it was a lifeline. A text.

  Ruby, we need to talk. I’m at the Royal Oak, can you get here soon?

  Immediately I replied, Yes, I’m on my way!

  I rushed then, as if pursued by the hounds of hell, out of the cemetery, past the monuments and the crosses and the massive family tombs. I set off across the fields, running past cows and sheep that, momentarily startled, lifted their great heads from their constant nuzzling of the grass. Pounding over the stony beach, slipping and stumbling on seaweed and shells, I reached the sleepy mill pond, the surface rippling with the fluttering of birds, droplets of water flashing iridescent in the sunshine. Breathless now and panting, I turned down past the Old Mill, its black tower shiny as licorice reaching for the sky, and the sea, shimmering in the sunshine, stretched to the horizon, scrubby reeds poking through the mirrored surface.

  Chattering people sat outside The Royal Oak on benches or along the harbor wall, clutching drinks in sweaty hands, and the smell of fish and chips snaked from the open doorway. The sea lapped gentle as a sigh onto the stony beach. Wood pigeons cooed and swans, flat footed and ungainly, begging for scraps. My heart beating fast and squinting, shading my eyes from the sun. All I could see was the red outline of a tall figure walking slowly towards me. At last—was it really him? Was it really James?

  He pulled me into his arms, the flowers he held crushed between us, the cellophane wrapper crackling. The scent of pink and red carnations, sweet as sugar, exploded around me as James’s stubbly cheek rasped against mine.

  The flowers fluttered to the ground and languished at our feet as, holding me at arm’s length, a worried look in his deep brown eyes, he asked, “Was it me that you realized you’d left at home?”

  I nodded, my throat too full of tears to speak. I was aware that people were looking at us, outright stares and covert glances. Kids were giggling and making mou mou kissing sounds.

  Gathering me close again, he whispered into my ear. “I love you, Ruby. Always have, always will, ever since we were kids.”

  The realization that James still loved me finally broke the dam, and I burst into noisy sobs, hot salty tears streaming down my cheeks and my neck, soaking into James’s skin and trickling into his T-shirt. Our faces slid wetly against each other, and, giggling like children, I stood on my tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “I love you too.”

  “That’s all I ever wanted to hear,” he whispered back. Clinging tight, James’s body curving around mine, he cupped the back of my head in his palm until finally, our lips met in a kiss that sent shivers running down my spine. Yes! I’d finally come home.

  To our surprise, the crowd rose to its feet and cheered heartily, everybody teary-eyed, waving their arms in the air. James did a sweeping courtier’s bow and I a dip of a curtsy, and everybody cheered some more. And then, laying the flowers carefully as a baby in my arms, he clasped my hand in his and led me into the pub.

  “You won’t run away from me again, will you, Ruby?”

  “No, never,” I told him, shaking my head and thinking how warm and comforting his hand felt clasping mine. The tiny sandy beaches of St. Malo and the infatuated girl who was Ruby Tuesday wandered fleetingly as a ghost through my mind. I thought of the dark corners in La Bar, and the strains of Blake’s voice echoed eerily in my head, but really I knew, without a doubt, that this was where I was meant to be. Right here with James.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said as we sat down at a table by the window with our drinks. The bar was dim and cool after the heat outside, and bands of yellow sunlight fell through the windows onto the stone-flagged floor. The fireplace was clean and swept, a large vase of dried flowers in place of the fire that had roared up the chimney on that snowy day only a few months ago.

  “Yes, we have,” I replied. The sweet scent of the carnations wreathed around us as, leaning very close to him, I said, “But do you know what, James? First things first. I want to know when you’re going to kiss me some more—especially the way you did just now.”

  His mega-watt magical smile was the only answer I needed.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Debbie Chase (married name Debbie Spink) was born in Emsworth in Hampshire in 1959, although she has lived in West Yorkshire since 1979. She is the eldest of five children (two sisters and two brothers) and has many nieces and nephews, great-nieces and nephews, aunties, uncles and cousins, having come from a very large family. She has been married since 1984 and has one daughter, Lara, and three cats Ruby, Teddy and Maurice.

  She has always been a reader and has enjoyed writing since school. Her proudest moment being when she achieved an A+ for an essay! She has had many short stories and poems for adults and children published in books and magazines. She has written four other books, the first being part fact/part fiction and called “You to Me Are Everything.” The second book based on a real-life pet sitting job is called “The Confessions of a Pet Sitter (from the Pet’s Point of View), and the third, the sequel to that book, “What a Catastrophe (Teddy’s Tale). The fourth book is a book of poems called “I Wasn’t There.” All four books are available to buy on Amazon and many other online book stores as a paperback or kindle. She has also had two pocket novels (“Planning on Love” and “Romance on the Run”) published with My Weekly magazine. Another pocket novel “Puppy Love” will be published with My Weekly in April 2021. Her other novels, “Educating Maggie” and “A Step Back in Time” are published right here with World Castle Publishing, with another “Ruby Tuesday” coming out soon.

  Her other hobbies are Dance Inc workouts, walking, yoga, running, kettlebell workouts and Pilates.

  After many years of office work, pub work and shop work, she is now partially retired and works part-time as an Examination Invigilator in a local school and also volunteers in a Cat’s Protection charity shop.

  Visit her website: https://www.debbiechase.rocks/

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen