Gracie (37 page)

Keeping a determined check on the tears that were threatening at the back of her eyes, she went over to the bay where her grandmother was sitting.

‘Hello, Nan. I’m back and it looks like I’m sharing with you. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, it’s not your fault, Ruby dear. The war’s meant we all have to make sacrifices, and Sarah was good enough to take me in so I can’t grumble. Now come up close so I can see you; my eyes aren’t what they used to be.’ As Ruby moved closer the woman grabbed her hands and pulled her down. ‘Ooh, you’re a proper young lady, you are now, by the looks of it. Ray said you’d grown up. Now tell me all about it while you unpack. There’s some coat hangers on the side. You’re going to have to use the picture rail for now to hang your clothes until I have a sort-out.’

‘I’ll unpack later, Nan, I’m so tired …’

‘All right, dear. Then can you help me through to the back? We can have a cuppa before tea. I don’t eat with the boys – they’re too noisy and there’s not enough room at the table. Me and your ma eat after they’ve all finished and gone out doing whatever it is that young men do nowadays. You’ll be eating with us, I suppose.’

Ruby didn’t answer; she just couldn’t think what to say. She was both horrified and saddened as she looked at the elderly woman with stooped shoulders and cloudy eyes, who was peering up at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. One hand rested atop a wooden walking stick and the other gripped a vast dark grey crocheted shawl around her shoulders.

During the five years she had been away Sarah Blakeley had visited her daughter every other year on her birthday, but as Ruby hadn’t been home at all she hadn’t seen her grandmother in all that time, and she was shocked to see how much she’d aged.

It was on one of the birthday visits that her mother had told her that Nan, already a widow, had been bombed out of her own house in Stepney and had come to stay with the family, and after her eyesight had deteriorated there was no way she could live alone. So there she had stayed, despite the overcrowded accommodation.

‘Shall we go through to the back now, Nan? How do you want me to help you?’

‘Just let me take your arm. It’s the rheumatics, they kill me in this weather and make me feel ancient.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, it’s good to have you home. You can help your mother around the house. Those boys are such hard work for her, what with her job and me being no use to her any more.’

‘I’ve not come home to look after the boys, Nan. I’ll help when I can but I’m going to be a nurse. I’m going to get a job and save up to start training when I’m eighteen.’ Ruby smiled down at her grandmother hanging on her arm.

‘Ooh no, Ruby, I don’t think the boys’ll let you do that. Oh no, dear, no.’ The woman’s voice rose sharply and she shook her head so violently Ruby took a couple of steps back. ‘They said you were coming home to look after me and help your mother in the house. That’s why they wanted you home … and they’re a real handful for your poor mother, especially with no father to make them take heed.’

‘I’m not doing that. If I can’t go to school then I’m going to work.’

The old lady pursed her lips and blew out air noisily. ‘I wish it was so, but I don’t think so, dear, I really don’t …’

Ruby stopped listening as she wondered how to stop Ray from taking over her life now, as Nan had reminded her, their father wasn’t around to control the boys.

Ruby hadn’t seen her father since the day she had been shipped off to Cambridgeshire, but she had rarely given him a thought. Frank Blakeley had always been so distant with her that she might as well not have existed in the family; it was as if she were invisible. He would, however, often rough and tumble fiercely with his sons to teach them to be men, and discipline them harshly for the smallest misdemeanour, his belt being the favoured tool of formal punishment, or his hand around the back of the head for an instant reprimand.

It was usually Ray who was the recipient of the fiercest beatings because he just would not give in. Ruby and Arthur would cower together, staying as quiet as possible when their father was beating Ray into submission, each of them praying for him to apologise and end it, but he rarely would. It meant that afterwards, despite the pain and the silent tears, Ray would be victorious.

Believing that girls were the responsibility of their mothers, Frank had never laid a finger on his daughter; but he had never interacted with her either. The news that he was dead had been a shock and she had felt sad – he was her father after all – but nowhere near as upset as some of the other evacuees had been when they had received similar news during the war. In the years she was in evacuation George Wheaton had been more of a responsible father figure to her than her own father had in the previous ten, and she adored him for it.

‘Mum?’ Ruby said as she helped her grandmother down the step into the back room. ‘Are you there, Mum?’

She had expected her brothers to all be there to welcome her back; for her mother to be waiting for her; but no one seemed to be around.

The room was long and dim, with a single standard lamp alight in the corner; it was dominated by an impressive round table with large bulbous feet, which was covered in a shiny oilskin tablecloth and encircled by six hard-back chairs. The alcoves either side of the chimney breast had built-in dressers, which were filled with assorted crockery, serving dishes and the best sherry glasses. A wooden canteen of cutlery had pride of place on one side, and two large Chinese-style vases, which had previously stood either side of the fireplace in the parlour, on the other.

As her grandmother sat at the table and shuffled herself comfortable, Ruby went through the scullery to the back door, which was wedged open with an old iron pot. She stepped out into the back yard, trying to ignore the outside lavatory, which she knew she would have to get used to using again. Just the thought of it made her feel nauseous.

‘Mum? Where are you?’

‘Out here, Ruby, just getting the washing in. I should have done it hours ago. Can you come and help me?’

‘Nan wants her tea. I said I’d make her a cup of tea while she waits. I thought the boys would be here to say hello.’

‘Well, Nan will just have to wait until I’ve finished this, unless you want to heat it up for her. It’s in the oven with yours. The boys have gone off somewhere like they always do and there’s all this needs doing. Good job it’s been a nice day, but it’s already starting to get damp.’ Her mother looked at her and smiled brightly. ‘Now come over here and I’ll show you whose clothes are whose. The boys don’t like it if their clothes get all mixed up!’

‘The boys, the boys. Don’t you want to know what’s been going on for me? I’ve been away for five years.
Five years
,’ Ruby said flatly without moving. The washing line was stretched the length of the small back yard, which was part paved and part vegetable garden. A small corrugated roof extended out from the scullery and provided cover for the mangle. At the end, the gate that led out into the back alley was open.

‘Don’t be silly, Ruby, we’ve got plenty of time to catch up on everything now you’re back for good. Back where you belong, not up there with those snobs. Here, hold this for me …’

Still smiling, Sarah pushed a battered laundry basket at her. Looking down, she remarked, ‘Those shoes are a bit too grown up for you. You’re only fifteen and they’ve got a heel …’

‘And they’re too big for you,’ Ruby replied quickly with a smile, aware of the way the conversation was about to go. ‘My feet are huge.’

‘That’s all right,’ her mother replied seriously, still looking at her daughter’s feet. ‘I can stuff paper in the toes.’

Ruby didn’t answer. She didn’t want an argument, but she could see her mother was going to find it hard to accept that Ruby had gone away a child and come back an independent young woman with a mind of her own and ambitions to fulfil.

At that moment, standing in the back yard with a washing basket of clothes in front of her, she knew that she couldn’t stay in Walthamstow. It had been her home when she was a child but now that she had seen a different way of life it was alien to her. She’d tried to do the right thing but she could see that her return had actually been nothing to do with her personally. It was simply a power struggle, with her mother and Ray asserting their position over the Wheatons.

She watched as her mother quickly took the washing off the line and transferred it to the basket Ruby was holding out. She pretended she was listening to her mother’s instruction about whose clothes were whose but she was already mentally composing her letter to George and Babs Wheaton, telling them she wanted to go back.

But even as she was doing it she knew that the letter would be the easy part. Persuading her mother andRay would be the problem.

Ruby found life back at the Blakeley family home far more difficult to deal with than she had ever expected and, as the weeks passed, it got worse rather than better. She looked after her grandmother, helped around the house and ran errands for her continually overworked and dog-tired mother. She did her duty as she saw it, the duty she had gone home to do, but nothing seemed enough. Alongside that she generally irritated her bombastic brother, Ray, as much as she could, her view being that if she annoyed him enough there wouldn’t be any objections to her leaving and going back to Cambridgeshire.

As the days passed she became increasingly obsessed with getting back to the Wheatons, and it always took several seconds when she woke up in the morning to remember where she was and then for the overwhelming sense of injustice to rise again. But her mother refused point blank to even discuss Ruby’s return to Melton.

‘Mum? I’m off to the High Street,’ Ruby shouted, quickly pulling the front door closed behind her and hotfooting it away from the house. She wanted to escape before she was given an even longer list of things to do and items to try to buy. She resented always having to do the shopping, especially with rationing making it such a chore, but at least it got her out of the house and away from her mother’s ongoing domestic grumblings, and Ray’s tormenting, which was made worse by her middle brother, Bobbie, slavishly agreeing with his every word. Arthur remained her friend as best he could, but his fear of upsetting his oldest brother meant he would always run off and hide rather than get involved.

Ray and Bobbie worked at the same motor repair garage so more often than not they left together in the morning on Ray’s beloved motorbike and arrived home together in the evening expecting their dinner to be waiting for them on the table, their clothes to be washed and ironed and their beds made.

And everything was always done. Their mother made sure of it.

Sarah Blakeley had easily accepted Ray’s declaration of himself as ‘Head of the Family’, and Ruby saw he was turning into a clone of his father, the man he and his brothers had always been petrified of. He carefully shaped his moustache in the same manner, tipped his flat cap at the same angle, and when he shrugged on his late father’s heavy overcoat the resemblance from a distance was perfect.

Ruby couldn’t understand why he would want to be just like the father who had always treated him so harshly but she didn’t comment; she simply observed and wondered why her mother didn’t stand up for the women in the house.

She was deep in thought as she walked and was almost at the bottom of the road when she heard her name being called.

‘Ruby! Ruby! Hang on a minute …’

She hesitated but didn’t turn round; without looking she knew that it was Johnnie from down the street, the man who’d carried her bags and caught her eye; the man she’d only seen in passing since that day, but who she had thought about and also heard much about.

‘Ruby!’ he shouted again. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll walk with you, Ruby Red.’

This time she stopped and waited with a smile for him to catch her up.

As he drew alongside he looked at her appreciatively and she was pleased she’d come back from the Wheatons’ with a decent selection of clothes and a secret lipstick. Clothes that had fortunately turned out to be mostly far too tight for her wide-hipped and ample-bosomed mother, despite the middle-aged woman trying her best to squeeze into them one by one.

‘Hello. What’s this Ruby Red silliness?’ she asked.

‘That’s what I’ve decided to call you, Ruby Red. Red for short. You look like a Red. Anyway, you look nice. Where are you off to?’

With a grin Ruby held up the shopping baskets. ‘Just running shopping errands for Mum and Nan, off to queue, queue, queue in the High Street. Again. My life is one long queue, hand over coupons, queue again.’

‘See? I was right. Didn’t take them long to get you back in harness. Big brother Ray said he was going to train you back into your place, as the family slave.’

Ruby laughed. ‘Shut up! He never said it like that! Do you think I’m daft enough to let you annoy me? Ray told me all about you and what you’re like, so don’t bother.’

‘Oh, so you were interested enough to ask him about me, then? I’m flattered.’

Ruby smiled up at him shyly as he fell in step beside her, his long legs taking just one step to two of hers.

‘Not really! Anyway, I don’t really mind getting the shopping for the moment. Ma has plenty to do with her job and everything. I do it for her, not the boys. And it’s just until I can get a job and earn some money; just until I can start nursing training and live in at a hospital.’

‘But they get the benefit of everything you do – don’t you care?’

‘I already told you I don’t care.’ Ruby lied easily, not wanting Johnnie Riordan to see her as downtrodden. ‘In a way I feel sorry for Ray. He’s just jealous he didn’t get to live where I did during the war. His face nearly hit the floor when he saw it all when he came to order me home. It was so nice there – clean with lots of fresh air – it makes this bombed-out place look like a slum.’

‘Oi! Hang on now, missy.’ Johnnie stopped walking and faced her. ‘I live round here, so does my sister and her kids, and it’s all right, thank you very much. Apart from your bloody brothers, that is. If anything’s wrong round here it’s Ray and Bobbie. They lower the tone.’