Читать книгу The Orphan Thief - Glynis Peters - Страница 14

CHAPTER 8

20th December 1940

‘Hello, Fred,’ Ruby said, and sat beside the frail man staring out of the window. His lank grey hair drooped over his weathered face, and his hands trembled in his lap.

Ruby had tracked him down to a private lodging in Cheylesmore, after a day spent checking medical tents, the morgue and finally the hospital, where they’d told her he’d been taken in by a friend of one of the nurses.

‘Fred, do you remember Gwen Blake, your neighbour from Kirby Road?’

With slow movements, Fred turned from the window and faced her. His arm was no longer in a sling, but his face bore the scars of recent wounds.

‘She was my grandmother. I’m June’s girl, Ruby. June Shadwell, her daughter?’

Fred’s hand reached out for hers. His eyes filled with tears. ‘Gone. All gone. I saw her fly,’ he said and he gripped her hand tighter.

Ruby realised he’d witnessed her grandmother’s death, and sat in silence whilst the old man allowed his tears to fall. She watched his lips tremble and the pain of what he’d witnessed flow with each tear.

Men do cry, but it takes death to free their pride. There’s nothing I can say or do for him.

‘Ah, you found him,’ the woman who’d let her into the house said as she brought in a tray of tea. ‘Got you a cuppa, Fred.’

Rising to her feet, Ruby helped clear a small table for the woman to place his cup.

‘He’s rather sad, I’m afraid. I think he saw my gran die, and I’ve reminded him.’

The woman touched her shoulder. ‘It might help him to sleep better now he’s shed a tear or two. All this brave face nonsense. If you’ve been through hell, why on earth can’t you show it?’

‘I feel the same, but sometimes we have to hold back and be strong for others,’ said Ruby.

They shared a smile and sipped their tea in silence. Fred reached for his cup.

‘That’s it. A nice hot cuppa will make it better,’ the woman said.

‘Is he going to stay living with you?’ Ruby asked.

‘For a while,’ the woman replied, ‘but I can’t have him here for ever. He needs a better home than this one, but I’ll do my bit until it is found.’

Fred slurped his tea and held out his cup for more. Ruby obliged.

‘I’ve brought you your photograph, Fred. I rescued it from your house,’ Ruby said as she poured the tea. She waited until he’d finished his drink and handed him the picture, wrapped in an old tea towel.

Fred blinked, looked at the package and back up to Ruby.

‘It’s a special one, I could tell. Your wedding day?’ she asked as she unwrapped the picture.

He snatched the photograph from her hands and stared at it, then stroked the glass front. His hands trembled. Looking back at Ruby, he clutched it to his chest and continued looking out of the window.

‘He hasn’t said a word since he arrived. You’ve done him some good,’ the woman said.

A sharp snore from Fred made them both smile.

‘It’s done the trick,’ said the woman.

‘Where will he go from here?’ Ruby asked. She watched Fred’s chest rise and fall as he settled into a peaceful snooze.

‘I’ve no idea. He doesn’t appear to have family. You’re his first visitor, aside from my friend at the hospital.’

‘This war is cruel,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ve a lady, well, she’s a friend now, helping me with important things. I can ask her about Fred’s future for you. Can I visit again next week?’

‘God willing, yes,’ said the woman.

Ruby frowned.

‘If the enemy allows us next week. I’m fearful every day I open my eyes.’

‘I know what you mean, but I’m not focusing on that any more. I’m going to build myself a future. Hitler won’t stop me,’ Ruby said, defiance in her voice.

‘Ah, the optimism of youth. I bet your parents are proud of you,’ the woman said.

‘They were, and I’m sure they are watching me grow stronger each day, but we just can’t communicate it in words, only thoughts.’

‘You’ve lost them. Both of them. I’m that sorry … Oh, you poor girl. Me and my big mouth.’

‘It’s painful, but I need to talk about them. I say things and get upset because I’ve embarrassed someone, but it’s the way I cope. Don’t be sorry for me. I was lucky; they gave me a good start in life. I’m building a business to carry on our family name,’ Ruby said with pride.

‘Time for another cup of tea? I’d love to hear your plans. Aside from Fred, some days I don’t get to see many people for a natter.’

For another hour Ruby sat explaining her idea, and left for home with a small basket of bric-a-brac to sell once she opened Shadwell’s Buy and Sell. The woman applauded her idea, and Ruby walked home with another spinning inside her head.

25th December 1940

The tiny Christmas pudding sat on its plate in front of Ruby. She sliced it across the middle and placed a portion into another dish. The smell made her mouth water as she poured a small dribble of watery custard. Although she’d called it a Christmas pudding, it was more like a marmalade suet sponge.

The smell transported her back to the previous Christmas. No matter how hard she tried to ignore the memories, she could not help but think back to the days she’d spent embroidering a tray cloth for her grandmother, a pinafore for her mother, wrapping a twist of fudge, hidden inside hand-knitted mittens for her siblings, and restoring a pipe stand for her father. She’d sanded and polished it until the perfect grain of wood shone. His face had lit up when he’d seen it, and he’d immediately placed his four favourite pipes in the appropriate holes and stood it beside the hearth. Every gift offered to her family had received a rapturous shout of glee. Ruby, in turn, had received a new hair ribbon and band, a pair of pink lace gloves which frilled at the wrist, a small bottle of peach perfume and a small raffia handbag. She remembered the smells of the day, the laughter, the joy of listening to the King give a slow, deliberate speech of reassurance about the onset of war. They had stood united in the best parlour and held hands. When he’d finished, they’d hugged each other. What she’d give to have that day again. The fear had been there still, but so was her family.

Today, her Christmas was shared with Fred, who sat snoring in his chair by the fire. He’d moved in with her two days previously. She knew she’d taken on a great challenge, especially if she had to find a new home for them both, but he represented the last link with her grandmother, and he needed her just as much. They’d enjoyed a meagre meal; she’d purchased a small piece of beef with his meat ration.

She watched him sleep, grateful for the occasional snore reminding her she was not alone. He looked so peaceful and she wondered when she’d sleep for more than two hours of a night without waking herself from a bad dream. She envied Fred.

‘Pudding, Fred,’ she said and gave him a gentle shake of the shoulder.

He gave a yawn and broke free from his snooze with a last snort, rose to his feet and sat at the table. ‘Looks good,’ he said.

‘Simple but filling. Next year we’ll have a proper plum pudding with creamy custard,’ Ruby replied.

‘This is tasty enough. Better than nothing,’ Fred said and shovelled a large spoonful into his mouth.

Ruby remembered he’d probably been without during the Great War, and so her pudding effort was appreciated. She opted to do the same and appreciate what she had in front of her.

‘You’re right; it is tasty, and better than nothing. Fred, there’s a bottle of rum in the cupboard; I found it when I cleared out papers. Would you like a tot? I know Dad enjoyed one at Christmas, and recognised the bottle, so I suspect it was a gift to Stephen last year.’

Fred scraped his spoon around his dish and ate the last spoonful. He leaned back in his chair. ‘A small rum would be acceptable, considering the day. Thank you. And Ruby, thank you for your company. You remind me of your grandmother – generous and thoughtful. You look like her too, but a taller version.’

Handing Fred his drink, Ruby giggled. ‘I think everyone was taller than Gran. She was a tiny thing.’

‘Feisty, though. I’ve seen her chase off a grown man for ill-treating a dog, and that man ran for his life,’ Fred said and laughed.

‘She loved animals, but would never keep one as a pet.’

‘Talking of pets, did you hear that cat again? I thought I heard a meowing in the yard earlier this morning.’

‘Not since yesterday. I’ll keep an ear out. Stephen had a cat, so there’s a chance it ran away after the bombing and has found its way home. Ooh, look, time for the King to say his piece,’ Ruby said and turned on the radio. They both stood as the National Anthem played. When the King spoke of Christmas being for children, no matter where they might be, the words hit Ruby hard.

At the end, Fred gave a huff of indifference. ‘A happy Christmas. We’ve coped, but can’t say either of us, nor any of them poor buggers – excuse the language – fighting are having a happy one, and some won’t ever again. Words are all very well, but this war needs to end. We were told it would be over by now. What’s the point of carrying on living? Politicians. Pah.’

He drained his glass and Ruby held back from offering him another. His flushed cheeks and fired up temper told her she’d been generous enough the first time around.

‘It’s tough for us all, Fred, I agree, but we have to find a way forward. Tomorrow, I’m going to write a list of the stock I’ve collected. I’m going to label it all with the street and, where possible, the number of the house I found it, so if anyone claims it as theirs I can give it back. If not, I’ll sell it on. You can help and polish a bit of brass for me, and I’m sure you’re a dab hand with a screwdriver and paintbrush. We’ll make it work, Fred. Me and you, we’ll get through this.’