‘Yes, girl, he’s gone. Looks as if his heart gave out; I can’t see any injuries. You did right, coming to find someone. Is he a relation?’
Ruby hesitated, unsure of how to describe Stephen. ‘My dad’s best friend. Dad’s gone too.’
The man walked around the room. ‘Anyone else here?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘He lives alone – he had a cat, but –’
‘Right, well, we need to get him moved. Are you able to stay here? Looters are creating havoc and this place will be stripped in no time if we leave it empty. I’ll get the authorities to send a recovery team. Can you cope with that? We’ll cover him with a blanket, so it won’t be too much for you to deal with. You poor girl, you must have had a shock. Need me to get a message to your mum?’
Once again, Ruby shook her head.
‘Just sit tight and they’ll get to you as soon as they can.’
Ruby nodded and watched the man leave.
Sitting in the room with a dead body wasn’t quite what she had planned, but it was warmer than being outside. She huddled onto a firm armchair and drew her knees up under her chin. She remained staring at the covered body for twenty minutes before a tap on the side door disturbed her dark thoughts. Guilty thoughts of being alive when so many were dead, and sad thoughts that shock had most probably killed Stephen Peabody. His house was intact whilst all around him lay in ruins, and yet he still hadn’t survived.
Ruby let a man and woman inside. When they entered the room, the man laid down a stretcher beside Stephen and both gave a brief smile towards Ruby.
‘Bert was right. Looks like his heart gave out,’ the man said after checking Stephen.
The woman tutted and spoke to Ruby. ‘You want to step outside, duck, or are you fine with us moving your dad –?’
‘He’s not my dad. He’s … he’s a sort of uncle.’
‘Sort of uncle?’ said the woman in uniform. She frowned and removed the blanket from the body. Her voice had a tone which disturbed Ruby, and her frown suggested something unpleasant.
‘My dad’s best friend.’
‘Aha, I see. Where’s your dad – want us to fetch him to see to his friend’s place?’
Ruby stood up. She’d heard about fate. Her mother had often spoke about guiding spirits, and her father spoke of God paving the way forward for those in need. This was her moment of need, and finding Stephen was fate’s way of showing her a safe haven.
‘I’ll deal with it. I’ll see it’s safe. His cat will need feeding. I can do that.’
The man from the rescue team gave a gruff cough, and the woman threw him a cold stare. Ruby knew why; she’d seen the stray animals feast in the streets, she wasn’t a fool.
‘I heard it earlier; he’d want me to look out for it,’ she said, determined to give a reason for staying.
‘Well, you knew him. Has he got papers?’ The woman spoke to Ruby and the man at the same time.
They looked around his desk and eventually found all they needed in the inside pocket of his coat, hanging by the door.
‘We’ll register him. The authorities will need to come and inspect the house for safety, no doubt, and this address with be listed as empty, unless … are you living here? I didn’t think to ask,’ the woman said.
‘I stay here at times,’ Ruby said, and crossed her fingers behind her back. It was a small white lie. She had stayed there at times, but not overnight, only when her father or mother took their books to Stephen for him to check. He’d helped with their accounts and they had paid him in groceries.
‘We’ll leave that part then, and maybe your dad can sort out the necessary. We’re off. Well done for being brave, not easy at your age, but girls are having to grow up fast during this war. Stay safe.’
As she heard the door click shut the house fell silent and Ruby absorbed what had just happened. Everything seemed like a story from a book. A horror story, and one from which she couldn’t escape. A tear slithered down her face, swiftly followed by more until she could no longer catch her breath between sobs. She’d found sanctuary for at least another night, and this place held memories. Cigarette and pipe smoke from Stephen and her father playing cribbage. Hearing her father laugh when Stephen lost and had to forfeit a few coins, or a dram of whisky. A simple friendship which both men acknowledged through daily actions or a game of cards. Neither of them were sentimentalists, but no one who’d known them could ever doubt their strong bond, which stemmed from their first day at school. Ruby also recalled the scratching sound of Stephen’s pen as he worked through the mathematics of their weekly earnings. And of how he’d helped her understand the muddle of learning her times table. He’d ruffle her hair and chortle out a ‘well done’ when she succeeded with a difficult sum. An uncle, as she’d told the woman? If that was what an uncle did to support a brother or niece, then yes, Stephen was her uncle.
20th November 1940
Pulling the last of the small cupboards across the room back into their rightful place, Ruby stopped and stretched her back. Clearing the kitchen had proven to be quite a task for her, but the dust and soot from outside blew in each time she opened the door. During the day she’d cleaned and scrubbed Stephen’s property, and at night she’d slept through intermittent nightmares and new noises from outside.
Whilst wiping down the last of the shelves and replacing the few china cups Stephen owned, a babble of voices distracted her and Ruby went to the window at the front of the house, but could see nothing. The drone of aeroplane engines throbbed overhead. She had learned the difference between enemy planes and friendly ones, and she identified these as British. She grabbed the coat she’d found in Fred’s house and rushed out of the back door, locking it behind her. A Fire Warden stood on the pavement and Ruby could see he was watching a crowd of people walking past the entrance of the road. She saw many wore black armbands, and some carried flowers or wreaths. Another two planes flew overhead. Everyone looked skyward.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked the warden.
‘Burying our dead. Planes are out to stop the Jerries from attacking the cemetery. You should go. Pay your respects. Say a prayer for the dead. Think yourself lucky,’ he said.
Shocked to think the enemy might attack the dead and their mourners, Ruby shuddered. ‘Not all my dead can be buried. There’s nothing to bury,’ she said, her voice tightening with emotion.
‘Oh, God, girl, I’m sorry for your loss. My boy –’ The warden shrugged his shoulders mid-sentence and pinched his lips together.
Ruby watched his face flush red; she guessed his thoughts: men don’t cry. Put on a brave face.
She’d heard the words said to her brother so often; she now realised it was true. From now on, she’d put on a brave face. Become a boy inside. Keep her emotions to herself. Hide from the world her thoughts. She’d ‘toughen up’, as her father had often instructed her brother, James.
‘My gran’s body was found, but I don’t know what there is to bury. I told them her name. No one said anything about a funeral, and I forgot to think about it. I’m not a good granddaughter, am I? I must go. You are right. Sorry about your son.’
Fully aware she’d not drawn breath throughout her garbled speech, Ruby ran towards the crowd. She pushed herself into a line of mourners and picked up their solemn pace towards London Road Cemetery. As they stood beside their dead, a soldier in uniform lifted a camera and recorded the despair of the living. Ruby watched him, and wondered how he could bring himself to do such a job. It seemed ghoulish – an uncaring act.