All My Tomorrows (10 page)

She couldn’t ignore the large hand he held out to her and she found her fingers swamped in a sturdy warmth. ‘Ruby,’ she replied, unable to continue her frostiness in the light of his smile.

‘Well, Ruby, now we’re acquainted, I guess we can pass this long, tedious journey more pleasantly. Are you sure I can’t offer you a smoke, or a nip of brandy?’ He drew a slim silver flask from his scarlet jacket pocket.

‘I don’t smoke,’ she replied warily, ‘and brandy don’t agree with me.’

He frowned as he eyed the plaster on her forehead and the swell on her jaw. ‘That looks painful. Did you get caught in the raid?’

‘Yeah,’ she replied, dipping her chin.

‘I’m sorry, Ruby, I’m just naturally curious, that’s all. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’

She looked down at the newspaper and tried to iron out the creases with her fingers. ‘It ain’t nothing fer you to worry about,’ she muttered. She realised she was being churlish and as this was so out of character, tried to make amends. ‘So what you doing on this train, Mike?’

‘We’ve all been posted to Wayfaring Down.’ He seemed to realise the name meant nothing to her and hurried to explain. ‘It’s an army camp that’s been set up a few miles back from the coast. We’ve been on garrison duty both in Iceland and Scotland since I enlisted, so it’ll make a nice change.’ He cocked his head, his eyes bright with curiosity. ‘What about you, Ruby?’

She looked round warily to see if anyone was listening to this exchange, but most of the civilians were at the far end of the carriage and the Canadian boys were deeply involved in games of cards. ‘I’m going to Cliffehaven,’ she said quietly.

His bright blue eyes widened. ‘Hey, that’s just a few miles from Wayfaring Down. Perhaps we could meet up sometime when I’m off duty?’

She felt a frisson of panic. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m a married woman.’

‘Aw, gee, that’s a shame,’ he replied with genuine regret. Then he grinned. ‘I have only good intentions, Ruby. Perhaps we could have a cup of tea or something, and you could bring a friend along as a chaperone.’

She smiled despite herself. ‘Maybe,’ she murmured.

The train began to slow and then ground to a jarring halt as the ticket inspector shouted out the name of the station. ‘Aw, gee, that’s us,’ said Mike, grabbing his kitbag and large suitcase. ‘How will I find you, Ruby?’ he asked urgently as he stood up and towered over her while the others began to shuffle towards the door. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ she replied.

His smile was slow and warm. ‘Then I guess we’ll just have to leave it to fate to bring us together again,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Ruby.’

She returned his smile and then he was gone, lost in the chaos of men and kitbags swarming down the aisle and out of the door. Leaning back into her seat, Ruby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He’d seemed genuinely nice, and she’d liked the way he’d smiled and had found the soft, deep tones of his accent very attractive – but for all his charm, he was a man, and that was the last thing she needed. From now on, she vowed silently, she would keep well away from men, however handsome, for they brought nothing but trouble.

She opened her eyes as the train chugged away from the station and realised there were only three other people left in the carriage, and they had fallen asleep. She did her best to forget about the Canadian and conquer the pangs of hunger and the throbbing pains in her face and stomach by picking up the discarded newspaper and slowly reading the headlines. Her reading wasn’t up to much, but at least it gave her something else to concentrate on.

The Germans were continuing their bombing raids on Exeter, Bath, Norwich and York, which the newspapers were calling the Baedeker Blitz. The targets had no strategic significance but had been listed in the German tourist guide as places of historical interest and great beauty, and given three stars.

Ruby had no idea what that meant, and only had a vague conception of where the cities were in relation to London, but the grainy pictures in the paper showed the devastation the Luftwaffe had left behind in retaliation for the RAF’s attack on some place in Germany called Lübeck.

As the train slowly rattled southwards, Ruby turned the page and read an article about the Spitfires that had been delivered to a beleaguered Malta, whose people had been recently awarded the George Cross for their unceasing bravery in the face of the German onslaught. The mission to get the Spitfires to Malta by using an American aircraft carrier to carry them into the Mediterranean had not been a rousing success, for over twenty had been shot down before they had even landed, and several others were in such a bad state it would take days before they could be operational again.

Ruby sighed and set the paper aside as the train slowed and then stopped.

‘Stonebridge Halt,’ shouted the inspector. ‘Tickets, please.’

No one got out at the halt and Ruby scrabbled in her cardigan pocket for her ticket as the train continued to sit in the station. ‘How long before we get to Cliffehaven?’ she asked as he clipped the ticket with a flourish and handed it back.

‘I couldn’t really say,’ he said dolefully. ‘They’re still repairing part of the line, and as there’s no buses available, we’ve got to wait here until it’s done.’

Ruby digested this disappointing information, realising she didn’t really have any choice in the matter and was a hostage to the railway repair teams. ‘How many stations are there before we get to Cliffehaven? Is it at the end of the line?’ she asked quickly before he moved on.

‘This service terminates there usually, but what with everything being so behind, we’ll probably turn round and come straight back to the Smoke again.’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘You ask a lot of questions,’ he said sourly.

‘Well I ain’t been on this line before,’ she fired back, ‘and I don’t wanna nod off and find meself halfway back home again.’

He nodded sagely, his gaze drifting from the plaster on her forehead and the swell of her jaw to her skimpy dress and cardigan. ‘Better make sure you don’t fall asleep then,’ he said unhelpfully before he continued on his way.

Ruby was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but realised it was childish and snatched up the paper again. Without a watch she had no idea what the time was or how long she’d already been travelling, and she just hoped his sense of duty didn’t match his lack of manners and that he would continue to come through the carriages calling out the names of the stations.

As time dragged on and the train sat and waited, Ruby realised the print was blurring before her eyes, and that she hadn’t in fact read the last bit about the new Archbishop of Canterbury at all. She gave up on the newspaper, hugged her handbag to her chest, and rested her head back against the antimacassar. A little sleep now while the train waited at the station would do no harm, she decided as her eyelids grew heavy.

She knew she was dreaming, but that didn’t make it any less real. She was running through London, with flames all round her and enemy planes strafing the street within inches of her feet. She could hear her mother calling her from the deep shadows up ahead, and the sound of train wheels rattling along a track behind her.

She dared to look over her shoulder and her heart began to pound. Ray was driving the train and he had the pistol in his hand – but the pistol was changing shape and now it was as big as one of the battery guns that lined the docks. She tried to run faster, but it was as if her feet were stuck in mud and the harder she tried the slower she became.

‘Cliffehaven. Cliffehaven. All change here.’

Ruby was startled awake, the terrifying threads of her nightmare still enmeshed in her mind as she stared up in bewilderment at the inspector.

‘You gotta get off here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Hurry up. We’re running very late as it is, and this is a quick turnaround.’

Ruby blinked away the fog of sleep, grabbed her things and rose stiffly to her feet. Her feet were numb with cold and she had cramp in her toes, but she hurried as best she could down the long aisle between the seats and then clambered down the steps to the deserted platform.

She was engulfed by the great clouds of smoke coming from the train’s funnel, but as she tentatively walked along the platform and the smoke cleared, she could see the welcome glow of a small lantern up ahead.

‘It’s all right, love,’ said a kindly male voice as the bearer of the lantern emerged from the darkness to lead the way. ‘I’ll see you safe.’

Ruby saw the peaked cap and black uniform and realised it was the stationmaster. ‘Thanks ever so,’ she murmured as she let him lead her to the end of the platform and through the remains of what had clearly once been an elegant booking hall. ‘This is Cliffehaven, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly is,’ he replied as he raised the lantern so they could see one another.

He was probably well past retirement age, with white hair and a bristling moustache, but his face was kindly and Ruby realised she must look a right fright, for she saw how his eyes widened as he took in her bruised face and the sticking plaster on her forehead. ‘We had a bombing raid in London and then the train got delayed all the way,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘It was ever so kind of you to wait for so long.’

‘It’s what I’m paid to do,’ he replied. ‘But now you’re here, I can get home to me bed.’

Ruby glanced up at the huge clock that hung outside what was left of the station building. It was three in the morning, still dark, with a bitter wind that penetrated her thin clothes and chilled her to the bone. ‘Goodnight, then,’ she murmured as she gripped the basket and looked uncertainly down the dark and empty street.

‘Hold on a minute, love.’ He touched her arm so she turned to look into his concerned face. ‘You got a billet fixed, or people waiting for you?’

She shook her head. ‘I thought I’d find somewhere to kip down until the billeting office opens in the morning.’

‘You can’t be traipsing about on your own in the middle of such a cold night,’ he said purposefully. ‘Come on, you can sit in the booking office and keep warm until the Town Hall opens.’

His broad smile revealed a full set of very white dentures as he pointed to what looked like a Nissen hut. ‘I’ve even got a little spirit stove in there and a kettle, and you look as if you could do with a cuppa.’

His kindness was so unexpected, and his offer so tempting that she didn’t quite know what to say. ‘Are you sure? Only I don’t want you getting into no trouble.’

He slotted the key into the door and stepped inside. ‘There’s only me, and I make up my own set of rules.’ He hung the lantern from a hook in the roof, lit the spirit stove and placed the tin kettle on the top.

Ruby shivered with cold as she hovered in the doorway. She was still uncertain, but the thought of a warming cuppa was alluring.

‘Come in and shut the door. The wind’s coming off the sea and it cuts right through you if you’re not dressed warmly enough.’ He fiddled with the kerosene heater until heat radiated through the hut.

Ruby tentatively stepped into the warm fug and closed the door behind her. She was still unsure of whether he was being kind, or if he had something else on his mind. He was an old bloke and looked quite harmless, but you never knew – men were men, after all, and in Ruby’s experience, most of them couldn’t be trusted an inch.

He glanced at her, plucked a tartan travelling rug from a nearby pile and handed it over. ‘This might be the seaside, love,’ he said with a shake of his head, ‘but it’s not summer yet by a long chalk. Put that round your shoulders and sit down.’

Ruby snuggled into the lovely warm blanket, still tense and wary as he pushed a canvas stool towards her. She could see that the hut was kitted out as a ticket office and somewhere to leave luggage. It would have been quite big if not for the wide shelves at the back and the deep desk beneath the shuttered window, but it seemed he’d made it a cosy place to sit and while away the time when he wasn’t busy.

‘You’re quite safe with me, you know,’ he said as he rinsed out two tin mugs and poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘You’re young enough to be my granddaughter, and I don’t like to see anyone with no place to go in the middle of the night – least of all a young girl who’s clearly a stranger to my town.’

Ruby eased onto the canvas stool and kept the blanket tightly around her shoulders as he handed her a steaming mug of tea. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured.

‘The name’s Stan, by the way,’ he said as he turned off the spirit stove, prised open a tin and offered her a sandwich the thickness of a doorstep.

‘Ruby,’ she replied, her gaze fixed on the sandwich.

‘Go on, love,’ he said softly. ‘I can see you’re hungry.’

Ruby was embarrassed by his pity, but her stomach had less inhibition and growled loudly, making any protest rather pointless. Her mouth watered as she eased the enormous sandwich out of the tin. She’d last eaten the previous morning, and that had only been a hunk of stale bread smeared with dripping. As she took the first bite of thick, greasy Spam smothered in lashings of brown sauce and margarine, she thought it had to be the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten, and although her jaw ached with every mouthful, she was so ravenously hungry, she munched until every last crumb was gone.

Licking the residue of margarine and brown sauce from her fingers, she smiled up at him. ‘Ta ever so,’ she said. ‘That were lovely.’

‘Have the other one,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s too late for me to eat now, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

‘Are you sure?’ At his nod, Ruby took the sandwich and devoured it before slurping the hot tea. Her belly was full and she was warm for the first time in hours. ‘You’re ever so kind,’ she said softly as she handed him the empty mug. ‘Thank you.’

He shrugged off her thanks, his eyes suspiciously bright as he stowed his sandwich tin back in his canvas satchel, picked up his gas-mask box and unhooked the lantern. ‘I’ll leave the heater on so you stay warm and have a bit of light, and here’s the key to the ladies’ washroom which is just by the entrance to the station. Now you try and get some sleep, and I’ll be back in time for the eight o’clock from Hastings.’