by Pam Weaver
‘Did you do this, Mrs Dart?’ said Ruby, guessing full well that she must have done.
Florrie nodded.
‘It’s . . . it’s absolutely incredible,’ said Ruby. The cake was actually three square cakes on top of each other, each at a different angle. Florrie had decorated the sides with a wallpaper look and with fashionable ladies dressed in summer dresses, fur stoles and evening gowns. The top bore the inscription ‘Happy Birthday, Ruby, 21’ and the whole thing was covered with edible roses. It must have taken hours. Mrs Dart wasn’t the sort of person she hugged, but Ruby couldn’t resist it. Florrie let out a little squeal of delight and hung onto her hat. When Ruby let her go, she blushed a bright crimson.
Her other former neighbours were there too: Susan Marley, who had surprised everybody in the town by marrying the policeman, Sergeant Len Williams, in the early spring; and Cecil Turner, the coach driver, now the proprietor of a coach company with four vehicles; as well as some of Nelson’s old fishing friends.
Her younger sister, May, presented Ruby with a beautifully painted card that she had made all by herself. Ruby loved it.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she said, her bright eyes dancing with happiness, ‘this is the best birthday ever.’
‘You deserve it, darling,’ said Rachel, standing next to them. ‘Doesn’t she, Bea?’
Bea smiled. ‘She certainly does.’ The three of them stood, smiling sheepishly at each other, until Bea tugged at her daughter’s arm. ‘Now go and enjoy yourself.’
So enjoy herself Ruby did.
After a period of time during which everyone caught up with old friends, they played silly games like Guess the Legs, when all the girls had to take off their shoes and stand behind a large blanket being held up at each end by two people. The husbands, who had been sent outside while they got ready, were then brought in and asked to find their wives, just by looking at their legs. It was great fun, made even more hilarious when Percy chose one of Rachel’s legs and the leg of the woman standing next to her.
They also played Wink-Murder, Musical Chairs and they danced the ‘Hokey-Cokey’. Bea and Rachel had organized a buffet tea and, when the covers came off, the table was groaning with food. There was a rule in the Parish Rooms hiring conditions that no alcohol was allowed on the premises, but that didn’t stop the women from lacing their tea; and the men kept disappearing outside, where they had put a beer barrel in the outside shed. No one got drunk, Rex saw to that, but everyone was very merry.
At 5.30 p.m., or thereabouts, Ruby cut the birthday cake, but that wasn’t the end of the party. The night was still young. Everyone cleared away the tables for dancing and, this time, Jim didn’t make a fuss. It was 10.45 p.m. by the time Percy pushed Jim back home, with all Ruby’s presents loaded onto his lap. Ruby, tired but happy, trailed behind.
Once they were in bed, it didn’t take Ruby long to drop off, but sleep came slowly for Jim. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long time. He should have told Ruby about the letter he’d had from the solicitor, who had also turned out to be one of the trustees from the orphanage. Considering the length of time that had passed, Mr Naiper-Raikes had replied quite quickly. Ruby would be surprised, but perhaps he wouldn’t tell her today. His wife had enjoyed her birthday and he was glad. His frustration with life was still there, but it was more under control at the moment. That said, he would have given anything to have danced with Ruby again.
He thought back to the time when they’d danced together at their own wedding and he’d whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It felt like a hundred years ago. He rolled over. Ruby hadn’t quite closed the curtains and the moonlight was bright on her face. Jim watched her sleeping. He had married the girl, and now he was in the same bed with the beautiful woman. How lucky was that? She was funny and clever and faithful. Stop this, he told himself. What good would it do? Even now his phallus was limp. He sighed. It wouldn’t be long before he could show her that, although he could never be the husband she wanted, he wasn’t a total waste of space. He’d surprise her and make her smile again.
CHAPTER 15
When Jean was tucked up in bed, Eric and Lena talked. Their money was almost gone and Eric knew he had to get a job, but he worried about leaving the pair of them on their own. Jean had recovered from her tonsillitis, but she was still very pale. She had no playmates but, apart from that, since she had been in Worthing she had settled down nicely. The doctor had told them that all she needed now was lots of fresh air and sunshine. It was wise advice, but as soon as they were out of the house, Eric began to fret.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Lena reassured him. ‘We need to get out and about now. We’ll only make ourselves more conspicuous if we stay in all the time.’
‘But supposing someone recognizes you?’
‘The story is dead,’ said Lena. ‘We’ve been all over the country, and now we’re a hundred miles away. Now that we’re married and I’ve changed my name, who would guess?’
‘I can’t go back there, Lena,’ Eric said, shaking his head. ‘I’d rather kill myself than go back to prison.’
‘You won’t have to,’ she soothed. ‘If – and I mean if – anyone out there is still looking, then they’re looking for me, not you. No one ever knew you existed. Relax.’
So he’d found a job at the railway-station coal yard. It was hard work, but the pay was reasonable. They were better off than some. They had no rent to pay. The solicitor, Mr Collins, had told Eric that under the terms of his late aunt’s will, as her only living relative, the house was his. As luck would have it, the paperwork had only just been signed when Mr Collins himself went to meet his Maker. Over-worked, they said.
It was Saturday afternoon when Eric and Lena discussed reopening the house as a guest house, but Eric didn’t want strangers living with them.
‘It’s a big house,’ said Lena. ‘We could even live on the ground floor and rent the top floor to lodgers.’
But Eric said ‘No’, and there was an end to it.
He’d been in his job at the coal yard for almost a week when Lena told him that Ruby had offered her work next door. His face paled.
‘It’ll be perfectly safe. I shall either clean the rooms after the guests have gone,’ she told him, ‘or I shall be in the kitchen.’
‘All right, but don’t get too chummy,’ Eric cautioned. ‘Be careful what you tell them.’
‘You worry too much,’ she said. She kissed him until he was fully aroused and then, with Jean asleep in her cot, they found satisfaction and comfort in each other’s bodies.
* * *
Bea looked down at the embossed invitation to check the address once more. Yes, this was the house. It was very impressive, with a large front garden and a pretty red-and-black tiled path leading to the front door. It was late-Victorian and probably had five or six bedrooms. There was a gabled porch and some stained glass in the door. She was surprised that Mrs Hayward, a member of the Townswomen’s Guild, would be the mistress of such an impressive house, but there it was in black and white on the invitation:
Dear Mrs Quinn,
I would be delighted if you could have tea with me at 3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. There will be a few other hand-picked friends with me, and I have a small proposition to make to you all. I do hope you can come.
Yours sincerely, Mrs Hayward
Bea had been curious. Mrs Hayward was a delightful woman. Bea had no idea how old she was, but she was closer to Ruby’s age than her own. She was sensible, well organized and full of life and enthusiasm. Effie had assigned her to kitchen duties on TWG evenings, but anyone could see that Mrs Hayward was capable of doing far more than the washing up.
Bea lifted the brass door knocker and gave it three sharp raps. A few minutes later the door was opened by a maid in uniform and Bea stated her name.
She was invited into a wood-panelled hallway that smelled of lavender polish. There was a long oak table on one side and a crowded hat stand on the other. A laconic spaniel ambled towards her, wagging hi
s tail. The maid showed her into a chintz sitting room, where Mrs Hayward was surrounded by several other women. Bea recognized Miss Horton from the TWG and Mrs Crockerton, but the rest were strangers.
‘Ah, Mrs Quinn,’ cried her host, ‘I’m so glad you came. You know Miss Horton and Mrs Crockerton, don’t you?’ The ladies nodded to each other and then Mrs Hayward introduced Bea to everyone else.
As soon as everyone was perched on a chair, the tea was served. They started with small sandwiches, then moved on to scones and jam and several delicious-looking cakes. The conversation was cautious, but enjoyable. As the second round of tea was being served, Mrs Hayward tapped her china cup with her teaspoon to get everyone’s attention.
‘As some of you know,’ she began, ‘Mrs Crockerton’s husband works for the fire service, Miss Horton is chief librarian in Worthing library, Mrs Quinn’s husband is a doctor . . .’
As she went on to list either their capacity as the wife of a professional (dentist, hotelier or banker) or as a woman with her own skills, such as a nurse, matron of an old people’s home, corsetiere or teacher, Bea was beginning to feel a little alarmed. Why on earth had she been summoned here? With all the talk of war and mayhem in the world, was this some sort of fifth column?
‘I’ve asked you here,’ Mrs Hayward went on, ‘because, as you know, our country is in a precarious position. An aunt of mine, Stella Charmoud, Lady Reading, has been asked to spearhead a women’s organization, to help in time of need.’
There was a distinct hum of approval in the room.
‘She’s planning an organization that will take a leading role in pulling together other volunteers to help people, should the unthinkable happen,’ Mrs Hayward continued. ‘Early next year the Air Raid Precaution Department will be extended to include women.’
‘What exactly will this organization do?’ someone asked.
‘My aunt thinks that women could act as a link between governmental departments and the general public,’ said Mrs Hayward.
The women looked around at each other in mild confusion.
‘I’m afraid I can’t be specific at the moment,’ she apologized. ‘Things are very much in the planning stage, but I’ve asked you here because I think every one of you has something to offer and I want you to think about what you might be able to contribute.’
‘My skills are very limited,’ said Mrs Crockerton.
‘But your husband is in the fire service,’ said Mrs Hayward. ‘Should there be a war, the fire service will come to our aid of course, but some women wouldn’t have a clue what to do in the case of a fire. They may never even have used a telephone and, as a consequence, they may not know how to use the new nine-nine-nine service.’
Following a disastrous fire in 1935 when five women were killed in London, a neighbour who had rung for the fire brigade was frustrated to be left in a queue by the telephone exchange. The incident outraged the whole country. No doubt, if she had got through to the fire brigade more quickly, lives could have been saved. Although not yet countrywide, there were plans to make the new 999 service available to everybody.
Bea was beginning to get the point. ‘My husband is a doctor,’ she said. ‘Should I ask him to organize first-aid classes?’
Suddenly the room lit up with helpful suggestions. Bea wished Ruby was here. She was good at thinking up ideas.
‘Has anyone else got a suggestion?’ asked Mrs Hayward.
‘In 1933,’ Bea went on, ‘my daughter started a second-hand clothing swap to help poor neighbours. It was very successful.’
‘That’s just the sort of practical thing I mean,’ cried their host.
‘I suppose, if people lose their homes and all their possessions,’ said Mrs Crockerton, ‘they are going to need all the help they can get.’ The hum of conversation rose again.
The young woman sitting next to Bea said confidentially, ‘Do you really think war is inevitable?’
‘Who knows?’ said Bea quietly. ‘But if it is, we’ll be ready.’
The woman wrung her hands in her lap and nodded. ‘My father died in the Great War. The Battle of the Boar’s Head. I never even met him.’
‘“The Day Sussex Died”,’ whispered Bea.
There wasn’t a person in the county of her generation who didn’t know of that battle, which began on June 30th, 1916. It was fought by three Sussex battalions, the 11th, 12th and 13th Southdowns Battalions of the Royal Sussex Regiment, and by part of the 116th Southdowns Brigade of the 39th Division. The Germans had known they were coming and when the bitter fighting was over, in just five short hours, 60 per cent of all those who had gone over the top had been killed. Bea couldn’t remember the actual numbers, but she would never forget the newspaper headlines, which told her that twelve sets of brothers had perished, three from one family. And this poor young woman had lost her father among them.
She squeezed the girl’s hands. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The young woman’s eyes were rimmed with tears, but she smiled grimly. ‘The sad thing is, we really believed they had died in the war to end all wars.’
It seemed to Ruby that the summer of 1937 sped by in a blink of an eye. She was working flat out at the guest house, with barely a moment to breathe. She didn’t mind, though. She’d enjoyed making sure that her guests were happy.
That summer season in Worthing was shorter than most. Along with the deterioration of the weather, large amounts of seaweed that had washed up onto the shingle beach lay rotting in the sun. The pungent smell, rather like that of rotten eggs, was accompanied by a plague of little black flies, which hatched from eggs laid in the weed. Some days the coastline looked as if it was suffering from some sort of biblical plague. The smell was so strong, it permeated the shops and local homes, including Sea View. Until local farmers carted the seaweed away as free fertilizer for their land, fewer people than usual ventured into the water, because to get there they were forced to walk over the stinking mounds, which could easily be several feet deep in places. Visitors left the town in droves and everybody knew that the late-season day-trippers wouldn’t be returning next year.
With the help of Lena and the German girls, Ruby managed to keep her visitors a little longer than most. In fact, during the summer months, another four girls had passed through her doors. She had become adept at calming their fears and imbibing them with enough confidence to be able to make, if not an excellent job, a reasonable stab of success as live-in help. When the time came, they were always sad to leave her. She equipped them as best she could and, although she had found time to laboriously copy out four more of her booklets, she really couldn’t face doing it again.
Jim was still doing his crossword puzzles. One morning when he opened the post, he let out a cry of joy. ‘I’ve done it, Ruby. I’ve done it!’
He waved two pieces of paper in the air and, when he showed her what was in them, Ruby’s jaw dropped. He had actually managed to sell a couple of crosswords to two magazines. After months and months of trying, it was his first success. The money wasn’t huge, a two-pound postal order for one and a four-pound postal order for the other, but he was as excited as a footballer winning the FA Cup. Now at last Ruby understood what he’d been aiming for. She was pleased for him, not only because of the cash incentive, but also because at last he had found a sense of purpose.
She and Jim lived together in a sort of amicable friendship. She knew that if she made another approach towards her husband, she would be rebuffed, and while she was busy Ruby could live with that. But by the end of August the numbers in the guest house were beginning to slacken and, with less to do, the frustration came back. Some days the desire for sex drove her mad. She didn’t exactly lust after the baker’s boy when he brought the daily loaf, and neither did she lie in wait for the postman, but she did fantasize. Lena seemed so content and happy with Eric that Ruby, whilst not desiring her friend’s husband, envied that. And her mother and father, although in their late forties and early fifties, looked so happy together. S
he loved the way Rex would stand at the garden gate and watch Bea walking up the street, and she wished with all her heart that Jim would do the same for her.
She and Lena got on well. Lena was older than she looked – in her early twenties, Ruby guessed – and told Ruby she had known Eric for five years. Apart from that, Ruby didn’t know much about her. She seldom spoke about her past and Ruby didn’t like to pry. Once, over the washing up, Lena had mentioned that her mother and father hadn’t wanted them to marry. Her father had refused to give her his permission.
‘Oh, how awful,’ said Ruby.
‘I didn’t care,’ she said defiantly. ‘I was determined to marry him, so we waited until I didn’t need his permission.’
‘It must have seemed like a long time,’ said Ruby.
‘When you really love someone,’ Lena told her, ‘you’re willing to wait forever.’
Ruby didn’t disagree. Look how long Edith had waited for her Bernard from the bacon counter. Edith had loved him since before Ruby and Jim got together and, although their wedding was now only a week or so away, and Bea had agreed to let them have the long-term tenancy of the house in Newlands Road, they were still waiting.
Lena used to bring little Jean with her when she worked. She was a delightful child and played happily in a corner with her dollies while her mother worked. She refused to be separated from her favourite toy, a knitted animal of some sort with long stripy legs, that she called Chewy. When she was tired, Jean rubbed the end of her nose with one of the legs until she fell asleep. Occasionally Ruby would offer to read her a story and the little girl would curl up on her lap. As she read, Ruby would breathe in the smell of her hair as it tickled her nose. It was always a bittersweet moment, because it reminded Ruby of what she could never have.
