by Weaver, Pam
‘The fire’s running along the bottom,’ said Edith anxiously. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t get all the way to shore and burn the pavilion at the other end.’
Then they heard the sound of breaking glass. It sounded like machine-gun fire. ‘Get back! Everybody get back,’ shouted a fireman. ‘It’s too late. We haven’t got a bloody chance.’
The smoke cleared for a second, and Ruby saw about fifty people running from the flames. They’d been caught out unawares as the cafe began to burn. A waitress came by in tears and was met by a man who pulled her into his arms.
‘I’ve lost all our lovely wedding photos,’ she wept. ‘I brought them to show the girls at work.’
‘Don’t worry about it, darling,’ said the man.
‘We didn’t even know it was on fire, until Mrs Tull saw the flames coming through the storeroom door,’ the girl sobbed.
‘Never mind,’ said the man, putting his arm around her and drawing her away. ‘At least you’re safe and sound. That’s all that matters.’
The firemen had attached their hose to the only hydrant, which was 500 yards away from the seat of the fire. Ruby shielded her eyes from the smoke. It was beginning to catch in her throat, making her want to cough. Like the others, she was forced to pull back. Tears pricked her eyes. It seemed crazy that a structure overhanging the sea might be lost forever, for lack of water to put the flames out. Her chin was quivering. It felt as if an old friend was dying. How could this possibly have happened? And in broad daylight as well.
‘Here, somebody take this.’ A woman was pushing a charity box into her hands. She was covered in sooty marks and was perspiring profusely. Her dress was dirty and torn. ‘Keep it safe for me, luv.’ She turned back and began picking her way along the pier.
‘Where are you going?’ Ruby cried after her.
‘I’ve left my handbag on the seat,’ the woman called.
‘You can’t go back,’ Ruby shouted after her. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I must. It’s got everything in it.’
She didn’t get very far. A fireman sent her back in floods of tears, protesting loudly that she had to return. Eventually her friends came for her and she disappeared into the crowd.
Judging by the lack of sound from the collection box the woman had given her, there wasn’t a lot inside it. Ruby looked round for a policeman. Once she and Edith had surrendered the box to a passing constable, they joined with others in moving the stacked deckchairs, in case the fire engulfed them as well. By now all the flames had given way to thick black smoke. The restaurant was completely engulfed, and the choking fumes lay along the pier like a shroud. After only about thirty minutes of chaos and controlled panic, it was all over, and the lovely pavilion was nothing but a charred ruin. Ruby and Edith stood with the others on the beach in a shared sad silence.
‘Hello, Ruby.’
Her heart leapt as soon as she heard his voice. She knew who it was, without turning round. Jim Searle looked as handsome as ever. She hadn’t realized he was the photographer taking pictures when she and Edith had rushed past him.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said, ‘but I wasn’t sure until I saw you handing in that box. That was amazing, what you did.’
‘What – handing in a charity box?’ said Edith incredulously.
‘No, trying to save the pier.’ Jim came closer. ‘I’ve taken some pictures of you. I hope you don’t mind.’
Ruby felt her face colour. ‘Why on earth would you do that? I must look a dreadful sight.’ She ran her fingers through her untidy hair.
‘I will admit that you’ve got a smudge on your nose,’ said Jim, taking out his handkerchief. ‘But I thought you looked lovely. Here, allow me.’
As he gently rubbed her nose with the handkerchief, Ruby could hardly breathe. Surely he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. It was thudding so hard that she was scared it would jump out.
‘Did you get some good pictures of the fire?’ she asked, her voice an octave too high.
He nodded. ‘Alan did too.’
‘Alan?’
‘Alan Duncan,’ he smiled. ‘He works for the Worthing Herald.’
‘Which means you’re worried that his pictures will be in all the local papers, and not yours?’ said Ruby.
Jim smiled ruefully. ‘Never mind. I’ve got some good ones to show my grandchildren.’
Ruby frowned. ‘There’s more than one paper in this country,’ she said. ‘The Herald and the Gazette might be spoken for, but what about the Daily Sketch or the News Chronicle? I bet the London newspapers would give their eye-teeth for some good pictures.’
For a second Jim looked startled by her outburst.
‘Get on the phone,’ she cried.
Jim put his hands up in surrender. ‘You’re right. I will.’
‘We’d better be getting back, Roob,’ said Edith, looking down at her sooty hands. ‘We’ve only got an hour to get cleaned up.’
‘Come back to the studio,’ said Jim. ‘You can have a wash and brush-up, and I’ll make you both a nice cup of tea.’
Ruby hesitated.
‘Then you can make sure that I phone,’ he grinned.
She lowered her eyes, blushed and smiled.
Warwick Studios wasn’t far from Warnes Hotel. It was a little untidy, but contained just about everything you might need as a background for a photograph. Ruby spotted some lovely drapes, and a maidenhair fern in a large jardinière. There were several chairs of different shapes and sizes: you could sit in a Windsor chair, a chair with a padded seat or a burgundy-coloured chesterfield. One wall was panelled and another had floral wallpaper. Although the windows had something over them to mute the light, she could see that it was all spotlessly clean.
Jim took them through to the back rooms. ‘There’s a sink and a toilet to the left,’ he told Edith as he handed her a towel. As she left, he showed Ruby to a chair.
‘So this is where you work,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘The darkroom is through the back door,’ he said, lighting the gas under the kettle. ‘My boss is out today. He’s working with a client in Ashington. I’m usually the general dogsbody, but occasionally I get to be on the right side of the camera.’
‘Like today,’ said Ruby.
‘Like today,’ he nodded.
The kettle had just boiled when Edith came back. She handed Ruby the towel, and Ruby took her turn in the washroom. When she’d finished, her clothes still smelled of smoke, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Having combed her hair, using the comb in her handbag, Ruby came back to find Jim and Edith enjoying a lively conversation.
‘Edith has just been telling me about your windfall,’ said Jim.
For a second Ruby almost panicked. How on earth did Edith know about the five pounds? Had somebody told her what was in the envelope? Did Mrs Fosdyke know? And who else knew?
‘An extra two and sixpence a week,’ Jim teased. ‘Ruby Bateman, you’re a rich woman.’
‘She said she was going to buy me an ice cream,’ said Edith.
‘Oh, Edith!’ cried Ruby, ‘I’m so sorry. What with the pier catching fire, I clean forgot.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Edith. ‘I was only teasing.’
‘I think we all deserve an ice cream,’ said Jim. ‘If you girls are free next Monday afternoon, I’ll buy you one.’
‘You’re on,’ said Edith and, glancing up at the clock, she added, ‘Come on, Roob. We’d better go.’
‘And I’ve got an appointment with the telephone,’ smiled Jim.
No one would have noticed her, a nondescript woman of a certain age. She shivered as she waited by the crossing for the gates to open again. She wasn’t cold, for the evenings were still warm for the time of year and she wore a coat, but she shivered as she stared across the railway line to the houses beyond and remembered the awful disappointment. Was it only a year since she’d stopped going to see Mrs Knight? She’d turned up on the doorstep religiously every month for t
he past … she didn’t know how many years. Ten? Twelve? And every time she’d crossed the threshold she’d gone with renewed hope, only to have it dashed again and again. It was strange, really. Mrs Knight had such a reputation for success.
They were a select few, all hand-picked and personally invited. They would file in one by one, not talking; that would disturb the atmosphere. She didn’t mind that. She was used to keeping herself to herself. She never even told anyone why she was there. Mr Knight stood in the doorway, taking five bob from each person. He did it discreetly and it had to be the right money. No change given. Mrs Knight didn’t do it for the money, but everyone has expenses.
Of course she was no fool. She knew that, since the Great War, spiritualists had mushroomed all over the place. Most were charlatans who were in it to fleece vulnerable people who were looking to make sense of terrible events. That’s why she’d refused to talk about her husband. She’d decided that she would know it was him, if he used her pet name when she made contact. No one else knew it, because it was an intimate, secret name.
The room was hot and stuffy in winter with the fire on, and the curtains were always drawn. They would wait at the table in silence until Mrs Knight came and then they would turn all the lights out. Mrs Knight would close her eyes and put her head back, saying, ‘Come. We are all assembled and we welcome you. Speak, spirit, for we are all listening …’
As the train thundered by, it brought her back to the here and now and she shivered again. A second or two later the great gates began to make their jerky way back across the line, as Johnny Morgan in the signal box turned the wheel. As they clanged shut together, she trudged her way home, being careful not to cast a glance at the Knights’ house. They’d be in there now: a new group, all hoping to hear from some long-lost loved one. The last time she’d waited in that stuffy room, the evening was what Mrs Knight would have called a resounding success. There had been a message from June’s dearly departed mother, and another from the son of a man who was there for the first time. The hour had been charged with so much emotion and tears that she was positive it would be the night that her dearest would speak too. But no … before long Mrs Knight slumped exhausted in her chair, and it was over.
That was a year ago. She’d stopped going then. It didn’t matter, though. He was talking to her now, which was why she was hurrying to get home. She could never be sure when it would happen, but tonight might be the night.
CHAPTER 6
For the next few days, Ruby was walking on air.
She knew she should be feeling depressed. Worthing’s lovely pier was a heap of acrid-smelling charcoal and, because the middle of the walkway had been pulled up, there was no chance of taking a stroll to the end. Although they had saved half of it, the ticket kiosk was closed and barriers had been erected.
She should, by rights, be miserable about work as well. Mrs Fosdyke’s vendetta against her seemed as bad as ever. Ruby had hoped that by now she would have run out of steam, but oh, no; Mrs Fosdyke hadn’t pulled the linen cupboard apart again, but there was a permanent scowl on her face and whenever she spoke it was only to criticize. Ruby toyed with the idea of giving notice, but she had only been in the job for less than a year and her father would go mad if she walked out. Having consistently refused to allow her to train at anything, he’d been the one who’d found the position in the first place. She’d argued, complained and sulked for ages, but he wouldn’t back down. There would be hell to pay if she defied him again. And besides, if she gave in her notice, although Mr Payne might give her a good reference, Mrs Fosdyke certainly wouldn’t.
Then there was Albert Longman. She really should be concerned about him. He had turned up the same day as the pier went up in smoke. She had only just got in, after turning down the beds, so her mother had answered the door, and by the time Ruby went to see him, Albert was licking his fingers and plastering down his hair again – it was a habit of his that really irritated her.
‘Hello, Ruby,’ he said as she peered round the door. She didn’t invite him in. ‘I asked your father, and he said it would be all right for you to step out with me.’
Ruby swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry, Albert,’ she said, politely but firmly. ‘I’m afraid I’m not really interested in courting yet. I’m only seventeen, and I think that’s far too young.’ For the past few nights she had lain in bed for ages trying to think of something she could say, if Albert came calling. It had to be something that would give him the message, and yet not upset him too much. This was far and away the kindest thing she could come up with.
He looked slightly surprised, then recovered himself quickly. ‘But you will go out with me when you’re older?’
‘Oh, my goodness, Albert,’ she said, alarmed that he hadn’t taken the hint. ‘I haven’t a clue how I’ll feel when I’m older. Um …’ She was panicking now. Did that sound as if she wouldn’t mind if he came calling again?
Her mother came to the door again and opened it a little wider. ‘Is everything all right?’
Ruby was flustered. ‘I – I think it best if you look elsewhere, Albert.’
‘Look elsewhere for what?’ said Bea.
Albert took a backward step. ‘Oh, I understand your little game,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose.
Why did he do that? Every now and then she wondered: what did that mean?
The other thing that made her unhappy was the situation at home. Since the day of the coach outing, her father had become silent. She didn’t know which was more vexing: his constant rants or the silent treatment. Whenever he was in the room, everyone behaved as if they were treading on eggshells, and even Percy looked uncomfortable. May didn’t seem to notice anything of course, but then her father treated her in a totally different way to the rest of the family. It cut Ruby to the quick to hear him call May his ‘sweet poppet’ and ‘darling girl’ as he cuddled her on his knee. She couldn’t ever remember having a hug from him, not even as a small child. In fact it wasn’t until May came along that Ruby realized fathers cuddled their children.
All of these things should have made her life an absolute misery, but they didn’t. Why? Because she was seeing Jim on Monday afternoon. She thought about him all the time. At night she lay in her bed, trying to imagine his powerful arms around her, his warm, sweet breath on her face, and his lips gently pressing hers. Somewhere deep inside her she discovered feelings she never knew she had. They were delicious and scary, all at the same time. Sometimes, when she’d been thinking about him for a long time, she felt a muscle between her legs expanding and her panties would get damp. Ruby longed to talk to someone about it, but it seemed too personal, too rude, maybe even naughty. What was happening to her? Was she being wicked in some way? Did anyone else feel like this? She also felt guilty. Jim belonged to Martha. That’s what everybody said. What was she doing, flirting with someone else’s boyfriend? Why, Jim and Martha were practically engaged. What would people say if they could read her mind?
There were three of them on the boat: Nelson, Percy and Albert Longman. Albert had told them that he’d never been out on a boat before, but when his editor had sent him out to go and find some local people to interview, his first thought was of Mr Bateman.
‘Let me come fishing with you,’ he’d asked Nelson. ‘I’d like to understand what you do.’
Nelson looked at Albert as if he’d swallowed a fishbone, and sniffed. It was obvious that he didn’t want some novice on his boat, but Albert could be very persuasive, and the promise of a couple of pints in the Anchor did the trick.
The Saucy Sarah was an open boat with a Marston Seagull motor – something that Nelson had apparently bought the previous year. He proudly told Albert that he was one of the first Sussex fishermen to have one.
His favoured way of fishing was with a trammel net. ‘It’s made up of three layers of net,’ he told a bemused Albert. ‘A fine mesh sandwiched between two layers of larger mesh. They’re attached to a floated headline and weighted, so that all
three hang vertically in the water.’
Albert wrote it all down in his little notebook and, under supervision, drew a diagram. Once they’d set out to sea, the three of them said little. It didn’t take long before Albert said that he was feeling queasy. Percy and his father simply did what they always did, following a skill that had been passed down from generation to generation. After a while Percy threw the dhan flag overboard and, as the boat moved through the water, he paid out the rope until it reached the anchor attachment. After that, Percy dropped the anchor and began running out the nets.
‘Don’t the fish just swim through the net?’ asked Albert.
Nelson looked at him as if he was an idiot.
‘They get caught by the gills,’ said Percy, ‘or else they get trapped by the inner net, which becomes like a bag around them.’
Albert changed his position, in the vain hope that he might feel better with the wind in his face, although it messed up his hair and made the bit in the front stand up on end.
‘Did you talk to Ruby?’ Nelson asked. He spoke in low tones, even though Percy was busy at the other end of the boat and wouldn’t hear over the sound of the engine. He was busy keeping an eye out for the end of the net, so that he could drop the second anchor and the dhan flag.
‘I think she’s playing a game with me,’ said Albert. ‘Her mother interrupted us, and I think she might have felt shy. She said she’s too young.’
‘Poppycock,’ said Nelson. ‘She’s seventeen. She’s old enough.’
‘I know that,’ said Albert.
‘Then be firm with her, man,’ said Nelson, making his hand into a fist. ‘Show her what’s what.’
‘I can’t make her like me,’ Albert protested.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Nelson. ‘Good-looking fella like you could charm the knickers off a nun.’
Albert blinked. ‘She already knows I have good prospects,’ he went on. ‘I earn a good wage. I could look after her.’
‘Course you can,’ said Nelson, giving him a hearty slap on the back.
