Ruby let herself be hugged for a few seconds before blinking hard and pulling back. More than anything she wanted to turn round and go back to the comfortable, loving home she had become accustomed to over the past few years.
‘I know, but Mum said no. She said I have to go back. If I don’t go she’ll send Ray to collect me and you’ve seen what he’s like. I suppose it is hard for Mum. Ray said I have to go and help her, what with Dad not coming back and Nan being there and everything …’
‘Yes, dear, I know what Ray said, but having met him I think you and I both know he likes to exaggerate a little.’ The older woman went on quickly, ‘Listen to me, Ruby. I know you have to go but I want you to remember that we’re always here for you. Any time you need anything, or you just want to come and see us, we’ll send you the train fare,’ she took hold of the girl’s arm, ‘or if things change and you want to come back and live here again. We’ll keep your room, even if it’s just for a holiday with us. This will always be your home.’
‘Will you really? I’d like that,’ Ruby said with a hopeful smile.
‘Of course we will. Now don’t you forget to keep in touch. We both think of you as our daughter. I never expected that to happen the day we took you into our home, but now …’ Barbara Wheaton paused mid-sentence as her eyes welled up. She touched Ruby’s cheek with her gloved hand. ‘Now it’s as if you were always with us, part of our family.’
‘Thank you. I’ll write, I promise. I’m going to miss you both so much.’
‘And I’ll write. Now you’re sure you’ve got the paper on which Uncle George wrote everything down for you? We don’t want you to get lost in London, and you mind who you talk to on the train.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘I do wish you’d let us drive you back.’
‘I’ll be careful, I’ve got the paper in my bag and I’ll be fine. Mum is going to meet me at the bus stop when I get to Walthamstow.’
At fifteen Ruby was slender and coltishly leggy with green eyes and dark red curls not quite tucked away under the brim of a grey beret, which matched her knee-length tailored coat. Her ‘aunt’ was taller in her high heels, her hair pinned into an elegant chignon, and her face subtly made up, but the women were of similar colouring and bearing, and, standing side by side, they looked just like the mother and daughter Ruby had often wished they were. It had been nice to be the cosseted only child in a loving home instead of the ignored youngest in a crowded unhappy house, but now she had to go back to her family.
Amid billows of smoky steam the train bound for London lumbered to a standstill and, after one more hug, Ruby clambered aboard with her cases and sat down in a window seat. Forcing herself to be detached she smiled and waved through the steamed-up glass as the train started to chug forward while Babs Wheaton stood perfectly still on the narrow platform dabbing gently at her eyes with one hand and waving with the other.
Just outside the station Ruby could see Derek Yardley, the Wheatons’ driver, watching through the fence. As the train moved away she saw him raise a hand and wave. To all intents and purposes it was a friendly wave but she could see his stone-cold eyes staring directly at her. She hated him with a passion. He was the one person she certainly wouldn’t miss, and she knew without doubt that he was pleased to see the back of her, too.
Ruby remained dry-eyed and outwardly unemotional but inside she felt sick and angry at the thought both of what she was leaving behind and of what she was going back to.
It just wasn’t fair.
Five years previously, amid many tears and tantrums, the ten-year-old Ruby had fought desperately against being evacuated from her home and family in wartime East London to the safety of a sleepy village in the Cambridgeshire countryside. Just the thought of going had been terrifying to the young girl, who had never been away from home for even a night. But once she had adjusted to the change, she had settled in and her time with Babs and George Wheaton had turned into the happiest of her life. She had stayed on long after the other evacuees had returned home.
But now the war was over and, despite pleading for Ruby to be allowed to stay indefinitely, her host family had been told that their evacuee had to return to her real family.
Ruby’s eldest brother, Ray, had visited a few weeks previously and stated in no uncertain terms that it was way past time for the only daughter to do her bit for the cash-strapped family. Her mother wasn’t prepared to agree to her staying away any longer.
Leaning back in her seat, Ruby closed her eyes. She was dreading it.
After five years living with the very middle-class country GP and his wife, who had picked her randomly from the crocodile of scared evacuees transported to the village school playground, Ruby had changed dramatically. She had morphed from a frightened shadow of a child into a self-confident and popular young woman with a good brain and a quick wit, although there was still a certain stubbornness about her that could surface quickly if she was crossed.
She had also grown accustomed to being loved and cared for, even spoiled, by her childless host parents.
It was all so different from her other home, a small terraced house in Walthamstow where she had lived for the first ten years of her life; the home where she had been brought up, the youngest child with three brothers who had constantly overshadowed her early years with their boisterous masculinity and smothering overprotectiveness; the home where her bedroom was the tiny boxroom and her role was to be seen and not heard, especially by her father. Ruby thought that her mother probably loved her in her own way, but she didn’t have any time for her, and Ruby’s enduring memory of those first ten years was of constant loneliness and anxiety. She hadn’t actually been unhappy at the time because she didn’t know any different, but now she knew how childhood could and should be.
Sitting in the carriage, carefully avoiding any eye contact with the other passengers, Ruby could feel that the old anxiousness returning, but she resisted the urge to nibble around the edges of her nails as she had when she was a child.
There was something niggling her, a thought that she couldn’t quite get hold of. She could see how her mother would be run ragged and struggling to cope with a house full of adults, but she couldn’t understand why anyone in her position would fight to add an extra person into the mix, an extra mouth to feed. It simply didn’t make any sense.
When Ray had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep a few weeks previously to order her home, Ruby had been mortified. The gawky schoolboy she remembered had turned into a sneering young man. Ray Blakeley had gone from rowdy boy to ill-mannered lout, the kind of person Babs and George had always encouraged her to avoid at all costs.
‘Ruby? There’s someone here to see you. I’ve sent him round to the front door,’ George had shouted through the hatch in the door that joined his village surgery to the house.
Ruby had run down the stairs from her bedroom expecting to see one of her friends in the lobby, but instead there was a young man. She looked at him curiously for a moment and then realised.
‘Ray? What are you doing here?’ She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.
‘Now that’s not a nice way to talk to your big brother, is it, Rubes?’ he grinned. ‘No hello? No long time no see? No nothing at all?’ With both hands in his pockets he looked her up and down critically and shook his head. ‘I dunno, look at you done up like a dog’s dinner. Looks like I got here just in time before you get any more stupid ideas above your station. Mum told me you’re all la-di-dah now.’
‘I’ve just got back from the town; I was just going to get changed,’ she countered defensively.
‘Just got back from the town,’ he mimicked her voice and enunciation with a wide grin. ‘Just got back from the town. Posh talk there girl.’
As a bright scarlet blush crept up her face, Ruby could feel herself shrivelling inside, reverting back to the trampled-over child she had been before her evacuation. But then she noticed Babs standing in the kitchen doorway, observing quietly,