9
RUBY
‘Spill,’ Vera said the minute we got off the bus in the middle of town and were walking back to her flat, pointing the meagre beams from our covered torches at the ground so we wouldn’t draw the wrath of whoever was on blackout duty tonight. ‘Who is he?’
‘There’s nothing to spill,’ I said. ‘His name’s Sam. Sam Archer. We were talking, that’s all.’
‘All night.’
‘Yes—’
‘What on earth about?’
‘I – I don’t remember, exactly. This and that. We forgot the time.’
‘This and that, eh? Are you seeing him again?’
A wave of hot and cold went through me as I remembered how I’d more or less agreed to the clandestine meeting next Sunday. What had I been thinking? I hardly knew him. It was madness – utter madness. If Father so much as got wind of it…
‘Well?’ Vera nudged me, grinning.
‘Yes, but—’ Fresh panic gripped me suddenly. ‘Oh, he said he’d get a message to me, and I asked him to send it to the office so Father wouldn’t see it – but Alfie will!’
‘So? How’s Alfie going to know who it’s from?’
‘How many letters arrive at the Herald personally addressed to me? And from the American camp? He’s sure to put two and two together – I told him I was going out tonight—’
‘You worry too much – who cares what Alfie thinks?’
‘I don’t, but—’
Vera stopped and put her hands on my arms. ‘Ruby, you’re allowed to have some fun. It’s high time you did. And you shouldn’t let feeling guilty about that father of yours, or Alfie Blythe, or anyone else for that matter, stop you. For goodness’ sake, you’re nineteen tomorrow.’
I sighed. ‘I know.’ And I had had fun tonight – more fun than I could remember having for an awfully long time.
After I’d changed back into my own clothes and washed my face, Vera walked with me to the edge of town, where I told her I’d be OK to go the rest of the way back to Barton Hall by myself. It was a quiet night; all I could hear was the rustling of small creatures in the hedgerows and the occasional hoot of an owl, hunting over the fields. At the end of my lane, breathing hard from the slog up the hill, I heard footsteps approaching and saw a faint circle of light from another dimmed-out torch moving along the ground. ‘Who goes there?’ someone called in a stern voice.
‘Alfie? Is that you?’ I said.
We met just outside his gate. ‘Oh, hullo, Ruby,’ he said, and snapped off the torch. I could hardly see him, but I could smell the faint odour of hair cream and stale tobacco clinging to him.
‘Did you enjoy your dance?’ I asked.
‘Yes, thank you. It was very entertaining. Did you enjoy your film, then?’ I could hear the question in his voice.
‘Oh, yes, it was great fun.’ I was relieved he couldn’t see me blushing.
He gave a slightly hollow laugh. ‘To be honest, you didn’t miss much, not coming to the dance. Jennie Pearson’s brother was there and he got in a terrific fight with one of the other men. The other chap was saying things about Jennie, apparently. Though I can hardly blame people for talking about her,’ he added with a prim little sniff.
I felt a flash of irritation. What right did Alfie have to be so judgemental? It wasn’t poor Jennie’s fault that the soldier she’d been seeing had decided he wanted nothing to do with her. If he’d had even the smallest shred of decency, he’d have married her immediately. I thought back to sitting outside the rec hall with Sam, and felt a wave of heat go through me as I imagined, just for a second, what it would be like if that was me in that position. I couldn’t help it.
For goodness’ sake, think of something else, Ruby!I told myself sternly. Quickly, I steered the conversation onto safer ground. Alfie and I talked for a little while longer, exchanging chit-chat. It all felt rather forced; I couldn’t help comparing this to talking to Sam; with him, the words had simply flowed, and I’d felt as if I could tell him anything. I was tired now, and itching to go to bed, but I couldn’t think of a way to get away from Alfie without seeming rude.
‘Gosh, I nearly forgot – I have something for you, Ruby,’ he said. ‘Will you wait here a moment?’
Before I could answer, he’d gone, dashing back to his own house. Rather drearily, I wondered what it was this time – more eggs? A few moments later, he returned, and thrust a small package, wrapped in brown paper and string, into my hands. ‘This is for tomorrow, for your birthday. There’s a card from Annie, too.’
I felt a stab of guilt for being so uncharitable. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’ I slipped the package into my handbag, nestling it next to the lipstick Vera had given me. ‘I must go in now – Father will be waiting.’
‘OK. Well, happy birthday,’ Alfie said gruffly.
Father was in the parlour, reading a book, a fire glowing in the grate to ward off the damp inside the cottage. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ he said mildly, but the frown lines on his forehead betrayed his anxiety. ‘I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.’
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ I said. ‘I was just out in the lane, talking to Alfie.’
‘Well, as long as you’re all right.’ He got up. ‘Would you like some cocoa?’
‘Yes please.’
We sat by the fire with our mugs and chatted, mostly about Father’s work. Normally it would have been cosy in here with the fire crackling, but tonight I felt as if the thick walls of the cottage were pressing in on me. I didn’t want chit-chat; I wanted to talk about things that mattered, to laugh until my belly hurt and I could hardly breathe again, like I had with Sam.
I didn’t remember Alfie’s present until I’d changed into my nightgown and was about to get into bed. It was a small wooden box, beautifully carved, its lid painted with a delicate pattern of autumn leaves. He must have done it himself. Remembering Vera’s words earlier today – The poor boy’s besotted with you – my stomach clenched. For one awful, heart-stopping moment, I thought there was going to be something inside, like a necklace or a bracelet, but to my relief, it was empty. I slid it into the back of the drawer where I kept my underwear, not wanting to look at it. I put Annie’s card – a childish picture of a birthday cake that she’d drawn herself on some brown paper – on my dressing table.
My last thought before I drifted into sleep was Sam, Sam.
*
As always, my birthday passed quietly. Father bought me a new watch, and Mrs-Baxter-down-the-lane surprised me with a skein of wool when I went to collect Toffee for his walk. I took him to Wreckers Cove to look at the caves.
The path down to the cove was narrow and steep, thick with gorse and brambles, which tore at my jumper as I pushed through them. People said the caves were a spooky place, but I’d never thought so. Certainly, they were populated by ghosts, but I’d always quite liked the way the spirits of the past seemed to gather around, as if to say, I was real, once, like you! When I could – which wasn’t very often – I came here to think, or to read.
I tried to imagine myself here with Sam, wondering when – if – he’d send me a message. What if he forgot about me, or started seeing some other girl? What if he was seeing someone else already? I heard Father’s voice inside my head: …only after one thing… and panic bubbled up inside me. He was wrong – Sam wasn’t like that, I knew he wasn’t – but all the same, I couldn’t help thinking of Jennie Pearson. I’m sure she thought that about her soldier too, before everything went wrong.
Thankfully, the next few days were so busy that I didn’t have time to stew over things. There was the usual rush to go to press on Wednesday – all of us at the Herald had to work late, and then I was on duty and there was the inevitable air raid. Luckily, this one turned out to be uneventful and when I got home, Father was sound asleep. On Thursday, I stumbled into the office, yawning. Vera had made us each a strong mug of tea, and there were already two piles of envelopes waiting for me on my desk. I couldn’t face the announcements just yet, so I started on the advertisements. ‘You’d think people could manage without cooks and maids while there’s a war on,’ I grumbled as I carefully slit the envelopes.
Vera was scowling at a piece of copy, a pencil stuck in her hair. ‘I wish I had a maid,’ she said, rather savagely. ‘She could write this bloody story about the Bartonford harvest festival for me and I could have a couple of hours’ kip!’
Making sympathetic noises, I opened the next envelope.
A thin slip of paper fell out. The advertisement was just a couple of lines long, written in a neat, slightly backwards-sloping hand:
WANTED – red jewel. Caves Sunday 10 o’clock?(If no emergency!) S
Frowning, I read the message two times, then a third. Who was this mysterious ‘S’? And why on earth did they want a red jewel? Racking my brains, I tried to work it out, but I was too muddled with exhaustion for it to make any sense. Perhaps it had come here by mistake. Perhaps it was a top-secret note from the army that had gone astray, or from the Americans, or…
Oh.
Oh.
Heat flooded my face. I glanced at Vera. She was engrossed, her scowl more ferocious than ever. I thought about showing her the message, but something stopped me. I folded the slip of paper and slid it into my pocket.
Red jewel– that was a ruby. Ruby. Me. And ‘S’, of course, was Sam. He’d sent a message, just as he’d promised.
Back at the cottage that evening, I read the slip of paper several more times before crumpling it up and dropping it into the stove, watching as the flames licked around its edges until it was nothing more than smoke and ash.
I began laying my plans on Saturday, asking Mrs-Baxter-down-the-lane if she’d like me to take Toffee for an extra-long walk the next day. ‘Oh, yes please, dear,’ she said. ‘He ate one of my butter ration coupons this morning! He’s always so naughty when he’s been cooped up.’
Toffee grinned innocently at me through his ginger whiskers as if to say, Who, me?
Sunday morning dawned cold but sunny. It felt as if I’d never get away – there was breakfast to make, the dishes to do, the beds to straighten. And just to make matters worse, there was a story in Father’s Times about a group of GIs in London getting involved in a brawl. ‘Disgraceful!’ he spluttered, scowling at the newspaper as he sat in his armchair to read it after breakfast. ‘I do hope they won’t start any trouble like that here. And if they do, I absolutely forbid you to report on it – you must tell your editor I say so!’
My fingers tightened around the teapot handle as I poured him another cup of tea, but somehow I kept my demeanour calm. ‘Of course, Father,’ I said.
His scowl disappeared and he flashed me a quick smile, patting my hand. ‘I’m glad you’re such a sensible girl, Ruby. I must admit, I was terribly worried when these Americans first arrived here, but I can see I had nothing to be concerned about.’
Oh, God, maybe I should just call the whole thing off today, I thought with a surge of panic and guilt. Mentally, I gave myself a little shake. I was going to see Sam again, and nothing was going to stop me. Sam wasn’t like those soldiers; he wasn’t.
Finally, at a quarter to ten, I was able to grab my coat and bag and head down the lane. As I was walking down Mrs Baxter’s front path, Toffee pulling at the lead, Alfie’s front door opened rather suddenly. ‘Ruby! Off out?’
Oh no.
‘I saw you from, um, upstairs,’ he said, his cheeks flushing a little. ‘I wondered if you might like some company? Mother has a headache, so we’re not going to church this morning.’
I frowned. Had he been watching out for me? ‘That’s awfully kind of you, Alfie. But I – I’d prefer to be alone today. I’m feeling a bit – you know—’
He frowned too.
Hastily, I added, ‘But perhaps we can go for a walk another time?’
‘Oh. OK,’ he said, looking crestfallen.
Then Annie appeared. Now ten, she looked like a miniature version of Alfie with pigtails and dirty knees sticking out from under her dress. ‘Hullo, Ruby!’ she said, grinning. ‘Do you want to come and see my chickens? I’ve got three of my own now!’
‘Hullo, Annie. A – another time,’ I stammered, aware of Alfie looking keenly at me. I could feel the minutes whizzing past, and every muscle in my body was tensed with wanting to get away. Toffee was busy sniffing something by Mrs-Baxter-down-the-lane’s gate. ‘I’ll see you later, Alfie,’ I said firmly, and dragged Toffee away, feeling Alfie’s gaze boring into me all the way along the street. He knows, he knows! I thought, and had to tell myself not to be so ridiculous.
I hurried up to the path above Bartonford Beach, which led around the headland to the cove. I didn’t know what time it was now, but I was going to be late. Would Sam wait for me? Would he even turn up?
By the time I reached Wreckers Cove I was pink-faced and breathless. I let Toffee off his lead and he immediately caught the scent of something. With a sharp little bark, he disappeared into the gorse, leaving me on my own.
The cove was deserted. I sat down on a boulder just inside the entrance of the largest cave – the only one that was big enough to stand upright in – gazing out at the sea. It was completely silent save for the gentle lapping of the waves, the faint roaring of blood pulsing in my ears and a magpie chattering somewhere. The air was still and cool and a silvery veil of mist hung over the water, the autumn sun not quite strong enough to burn it away.
I should have got here sooner, I thought. He thought I couldn’t be bothered – he’s given up and gone. I was startled at how disappointed I felt.
Then I heard a shower of stones clatter down onto the beach. As I jumped to my feet, Sam appeared in the entrance to the cave.