A Promise Between Friends (7 page)

‘Ain’t you coming in for a cuppa?’

‘I’ll catch a game with the boys if I hurry. Don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not.’ She did mind. A lot. She wanted to talk to her dad. To listen to his deep voice and see him sitting next to her mum in the kitchen, his arm around Babs’s
shoulders, and Pete standing there, making them all laugh like he used to. But what she wanted and what she had were two different things. She had to settle for at least having a dad to hug, even
if only for ten minutes. And a mother who was more than a screw loose, but at least still functioned enough to keep the house going in some sort of order.

‘Take care of yourself,’ her dad said, giving her a quick pat on the arm. ‘And give Kath me love. I take it you and her are doing all right?’

‘Yes, Dad, thanks.’ She knew he wanted to get away. To leave while the going was good. Before emotion got the better of him. Before they were forced to acknowledge the truth. That
things wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, the same as they were. Not by a long shot.

‘I’ll be off then.’

She wanted to hug him again, to be safe in his arms, but instead she watched him walk over the weeds and brown grass, ignoring the pile of rust and rubbish that had accumulated, that once
he’d have disposed of in the blink of an eye.

When she heard the chink of the side gate, she gave a soft sigh and turned back to the prefab. The kitchen door had a broken pane of glass in its frame, and the greying net curtain hanging
behind drooped. Once upon a time, Pete would have helped Dad replace the glass and Mum would have hung a new curtain.

Babs walked into the kitchen as Ruby went in.

‘Dad’s gone for a game of billiards at the club,’ Ruby told her mother.

‘Your brother will see to the repairs,’ Babs said cheerfully. ‘Now, I’ll put the kettle on. Why don’t you go in the front room and warm up? There’s a nice
fire going.’

Ruby watched Babs busy herself over the stove. The kitchen was in need of a scrub. There were patches of mould on the walls and the table and chairs had been worn down to the bare wood. She
couldn’t bear to look any more, so she did as Babs told her.

But when she arrived in the front room, Ruby gasped. There were clothes strewn everywhere. Over the chairs and sideboard, hanging from the picture rail and old leather sofa. Labels were attached
to materials. Hems were tacked up, others had patterns attached. The sewing machine took up most of the dining table.

It was chaos.

‘What’s all this?’ Ruby asked as Babs walked in with two teacups balanced on their saucers.

‘Business is brisk, dear. Let me clear one of the chairs.’ Babs put the cups down on the sideboard. She shuffled the clothes from a seat. ‘Park yourself there, love. You can
talk to me while I work.’

‘Mum, the fire’s almost out. It’s very cold in here.’

‘Is it? I wrap up warm. Lots of layers under me overall.’ She sat down at the sewing machine. ‘I have to have this ready for Monday. You don’t mind if I carry on, do
you?’

‘S’pose not.’ Ruby shivered. Apart from the cold, the smell of mould was overpowering.

Babs slipped on her round spectacles and off went the treadle. Her slippered feet went up and down. Ruby flinched as the noise grew louder.

‘Are you keeping well, Mum?’ Ruby shouted above the treadle.

‘Not bad.’

‘Does Maggs Jenkins still pop by?’ Ruby knew that her mum had one good friend in the street who lived a couple of doors down.

‘Not so much these days.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’m very busy, you know. I have customers to please.’

Ruby sighed as her mum continued to thread the material under the needle of the sewing machine. No wonder her dad had gone out. What sort of life was this for him? Did her mum really have all
these customers? Or were they just another figment of her imagination? Her poor dad. How could he live in this?

‘I’ll take the cups out.’

Babs just nodded.

Ruby threw away the cold tea and rinsed the dirty china. When all was clean and tidy she went out to the hall. She realized she hadn’t even taken off her coat. But it wasn’t just
cold, it was freezing.

The door to Pete’s room was ajar. She went inside. Why did it surprise her every time she saw the interior? It was just as Pete had kept it.

For a boy, Pete had always been very particular, Ruby reflected as she stood gazing around. He’d disliked untidiness and clutter in any shape or form. From very young, he had cleaned his
room himself. Kept it spotless. Unlike me, Ruby thought with a rueful smile. She was only too ready to leave her mess to Mum, who had, once every month, turfed out the debris and swept the
lino.

Dad had put up the dividing wall between her bedroom and Pete’s. It was very thin hardboard. She remembered listening to Pete’s music through the partition, echoing from his Dansette
record player. Frankie Laine, Jo Stafford and Kay Starr. Pete couldn’t play enough of them.

Now she looked at the record player and her heart gave a twist. It stood silent on the lacquered black-and-cream sideboard supported by thin, splayed legs. His collection of records was stacked
under the set of teak shelves screwed to the wall. Slowly she walked over to browse Pete’s books. He’d had his favourites;
The Little Grey Men, King Solomon’s Mines
and
The Three Musketeers
. Well-thumbed copies, too old or too flimsy to stand upright, steadied by plaster Scottie dog bookends. A volume of poetry,
The Ballad of Reading Gaol,
which
she’d read once and not understood; a man had killed the thing he loved most, the meaning of which – as Pete had predicted – was lost on her.

Ruby drew her fingers over the polished sideboard, moving slowly to stand by the small settee. Next to it stood the wardrobe, far too large for the room. But Pete had thought nothing of spending
a fortune on clothes. Ruby smiled as she recalled his many suits and pairs of shoes.

‘You’re as vain as any girl,’ Mum often told him and she was right. Pete would occupy the bathroom for hours, until Dad hammered on the door, wanting to use the lav.

Ruby inhaled as she opened the wardrobe. Pete’s particular smell wafted out. An unforgettable mixture of wood and spice that was his favourite Floris cologne. His clear image suddenly
danced into her mind, bringing with it both pain and pleasure.

All his suits were hung neatly on sturdy wooden hangers. Some were even marked
Savile Row.
His best shoes were lined neatly below, all polished to perfection. She reached down, sliding
out one of the brown suede loafers. It was hardly worn, the sole almost without a scratch. Then, as she was about to replace it, her eye fell on a small catch at the back of the wardrobe. Taking
hold of it, she pulled gently.

To her surprise the floor shifted. Was there something beneath? Should she look? Ruby listened for the sewing-machine noise. It was still clattering away as noisily as ever. With haste, she
lifted the wooden base. Below was a book, and one she recognized.

Pete’s diary.

Ruby’s heart was racing as she sat on Pete’s bed, diary in hand. No larger than a school exercise book and bound by a flimsy grey cover. ‘You’re too
young to read it,’ he’d said as he’d taken the book from her wandering hands as she’d sat idly in his room. ‘One day perhaps, when you know more about life.’

‘I’m old enough now,’ she’d insisted, but Pete had only chuckled and she’d noticed how quickly he’d slipped it out of sight.

Now, about to open the diary, she hesitated. But how could she resist seeing inside?

‘Jan 4 1950. Today R. Westminster, then Harrow. Will call Joanie later,’ Pete had written on the first page in his clear, familiar handwriting. More dates followed. Some of the
entries made her smile. ‘Collect suit a.m. Barber’s. Full works this time. Joanie likes me smooth as a baby’s bottom.’

Joanie? Who was this Joanie? It must be his girlfriend. But Ruby had never heard Pete mention her. She read on. ‘Mr R to the House of Commons today.’ And, ‘Collect clients from
Heathrow. Tight bastards. No tips.’

There was a quote from someone with the initials WC: ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going.’

She studied the walls of his bedroom. There were no pictures of girls, or even a girlie calendar, much less a photo of Joanie. But there was a poster of a film that Pete had raved about. And on
the wall by the wardrobe a picture of an ugly white dog wearing a black top hat. Ruby smiled. Pete’s sense of humour had been crazy.

Who was this Joanie? Ruby wondered again. Pete had lots of girlfriends. None had stood the test of time. Was Joanie one of Pete’s secrets? A special girl he’d really liked?

Ruby read on. Some entries weren’t dated. There were random thoughts and even poems. Suddenly she realized the house was quiet. Replacing the shoes, she closed the wardrobe door quietly.
There was no sewing-machine noise. Quickly she slipped Pete’s diary under her jumper.

A few steps later and she was safely in the bathroom.

‘Oh, here you are,’ her mother said, looking in. ‘I went outside to see if you was in the garden.’

‘Would you mind if I had a bath?’ Ruby asked. ‘I ain’t had a good soak for ages.’

‘Course not. There’s plenty of hot water. The council put in a new boiler to cure the damp. Just turn the knob and it’ll come through.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘There’s a towel behind the door,’ Babs said, frowning. ‘I’ll go and find some Lifebuoy.’

After she’d gone, Ruby turned the knob. Soon the cold, musty bathroom was warm. At least there was constant hot water now.

She wondered if her mum knew about Pete’s diary. Would she look for it, then find it gone? No. That was unlikely. The catch in the wardrobe was hidden.

‘Here you are, ducks.’ Babs returned with the soap.

Ruby couldn’t undress as the diary was inside her jumper. But her mum just stood there.

‘It’s nice to have you home,’ Babs said sadly. ‘Just like the old days.’

This gave Ruby a jolt. Her mum had never said she missed her before. It had all been about Pete. Now Babs stood there, staring through puzzled eyes. As if, looking at Ruby, she had suddenly
remembered something she’d lost.

Ruby knew it was still all about Pete. The son Babs had loved so dearly and was now gone. But where? This question was in her mother’s gaze, the mother who couldn’t leave grief
behind.

‘Pete will be pleased to see you.’

A shiver went over Ruby. It was as if Pete’s ghost was trapped in the prefab. Babs kept him prisoner, refusing to allow Pete his escape.

‘Better get on with me sewing,’ Babs said in a distant voice, and, to Ruby’s relief, went out.

It was early in December and most shops had already put up their decorations. Ruby left the bus in Oxford Street, eager to window shop as she made her way to Dower Street. The
lights strung overhead were not yet alight. Everyone was busy shopping, enjoying the Saturday afternoon. She gazed in all the shop windows. There were tall artificial green Christmas trees,
decorated with silver balls and glitter. Lifelike models of children wearing winter coats and hats with brightly coloured scarves. Over it all was a dusting of white fake snow.

Carols were being played by a Salvation Army band and Ruby paused to listen. She dug in her purse for a copper to give to the worthwhile cause. After listening to ‘Silent Night’,
Ruby moved on. Once again she saw her reflection in the windows as she passed through the crowds. Her new outfit, bought at the Co-op last week to cheer herself up, looked very smart. The
three-quarter-length coat and straight skirt looked classy, a definite plus. She wanted to impress Anna. Unfortunately, she was broke again, but she was in no hurry to settle the rent. Not after
Bernie’s unforgivable behaviour!

Her extravagance quickly forgotten, she continued to admire her reflection. The plum-coloured coat with its high rolled collar marked her out from the crowd. Her black suede peep-toes, leather
gloves and fashionable beret were the perfect accessories.

Ruby paraded on, her bottom swaying from side to side. She felt top dollar, as Pete would say. For a few seconds she thought about his diary tucked safely away in her drawer. Every so often
she’d take it out and read it. But only when Kath wasn’t there. And that wasn’t very often.

It was now almost three, according to the clock above a tobacconist’s. As Debbie had left early to meet Rog she’d closed the parlour at twelve and caught the first bus up to the West
End. She’d just had enough money for a coffee in the El Cabala in Oxford Street.

Would Anna be at home? she wondered. And even if she was, would she be too busy to see her?

Ruby turned off at Marble Arch and made her way to the Edgware Road. As she didn’t know where Dower Street was, she stopped to ask the way in a corner shop selling hardware. She was given
directions to a small square which led to Dower Street. Ruby walked along the rows of white stucco terraces, admiring the pillared front doors and their shining brass letterboxes. Other houses were
not quite so impressive. But peeling paint or not, they all had charm.

Number 10 had broad white steps, gleaming long windows and a basement. Her heart raced.

Following Anna’s instructions, she pressed the red button. Would Anna answer?

The door opened and there stood Anna, just as Ruby remembered her. Tall and slim, with her dark hair swept up at the back of her head. Her green eyes were emphasized by a set of jade earrings
and a chunky glass necklace. The tangerine dress she wore might not have suited everyone, Ruby thought, but against Anna’s creamy complexion it looked wonderful.

‘I thought you had decided not to visit me,’ Anna said, kissing her cheek and drawing her into the beautifully decorated hall. ‘I was beginning to feel forgotten.’

‘We were busy at work,’ Ruby said, surprised by such a warm greeting. ‘Or I would have come sooner.’

‘Never mind, you’re here now. What a wonderful surprise.’

Ruby followed Anna into a large room furnished with two white brocade sofas scattered with silk-covered cushions. Pale, thick rugs lay on the floor. To the rear of the room was a set of white
doors and Ruby could hear voices beyond.