All My Tomorrows (9 page)

The sight of the women in the familiar dark green uniform was comforting, and Ruby headed for the tea waggon. Within minutes she had a big mug of hot, sweet tea grasped in her cold hands, while a nice motherly lady cleaned up her head wound and stuck a plaster over it.

‘Got caught in the raid, did you?’ the woman asked as she finished gently dabbing some foul-smelling oil on Ruby’s swollen jaw.

‘Something like that,’ said Ruby, handing her the empty mug. ‘Thanks ever so much for the tea.’ She shot her a cheeky grin. ‘I don’t suppose you could spare another?’

The woman must have felt sorry for her, for she clucked in sympathy and refilled the mug before bustling off to help someone else. Ruby didn’t mind; she had a belly full of hot, sweet tea, and she’d just spotted a spare place on a nearby bench.

Ruby quickly claimed it and sat down with a sigh of gratitude. Having drunk her tea to the last drop, she placed the mug on top of the basket between her feet and tried her best to ignore the ache in her jaw. She carefully tested her teeth with her tongue and was relieved to discover that none of them seemed to have been knocked loose – and then, without warning, the full horror of what she’d been through suddenly hit her.

Overwhelmed and unable to fight the great wave of emotion that swept through her, she wrapped her arms about her waist and curled over until her head was almost touching her knees. Her thoughts raced, teeming with anxious questions. Had her mum got help for Ray? Was he still alive? Why hadn’t she insisted upon Ethel coming with her? It couldn’t possibly be safe for her in the tenements now. Would the rozzers be asking their endless questions – and had Ray’s family already spread the word to numberless, anonymous people who were out there this very minute looking for her? She had no answers, just the almost crippling certainty that she had put her mother in terrible danger by leaving her behind. And that was the hardest thing to bear.

As she sat on the end of the bench, curled against the noise and bustle of the vast concourse, she felt hot tears roll down her face. She had never felt so lost or alone before, had never experienced such anguish or indecision, and she didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

She felt the woman sitting next to her shift about and then, moments later, her soft, nudging elbow against her arm. ‘Here you are, ducks,’ she said softly, ‘the hanky’s clean, and you look as if you need it more’n me.’

The stranger’s kind words brought things back into focus again, and as she used the scrap of cotton, she regained firmer control of her emotions. Tears weren’t the answer, but she had to admit she felt better for them. She gave the elderly woman a watery smile as she returned the rather soggy hanky. ‘I don’t usually bawl me eyes out like that,’ she said shamefacedly.

The curlers bobbed beneath the headscarf and the faded eyes were sympathetic as the woman stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of her shabby coat and tucked her two brown paper parcels more firmly between her feet. ‘I expect you’re just tired and fed up like the rest of us,’ she said. ‘I been bombed out three times now, and I’ve ’ad enough too.’

Ruby looked into the wan, lined face and the kindly eyes and felt like crying again. The woman was a much older version of Ethel, with her headscarf and curlers, her work-worn hands clasped around her gas-mask box and cheap handbag. ‘It’s been a long day,’ Ruby muttered, ‘and by the looks of that empty noticeboard, it ain’t over yet.’

‘Every day’s flamin’ long since that ’itler got above ’imself,’ the woman replied, her arms folded tightly beneath her bosom. ‘I’m off back to me billet in Clapham Junction if the bleedin’ train ever arrives,’ she said without rancour. ‘What about you?’

Ruby knew she had to be careful what she said. There was a complicated network of families and acquaintances amongst the working people of London, and although she didn’t know this woman, it didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t related to someone in Bow or the surrounding districts. ‘I’m off to Margate,’ she said.

‘Blimey, best of luck,’ the woman said with a grimace. ‘They say the bombin’s just as bad there as it is here.’ The faded eyes regarded her and the wicker basket with more than a hint of curiosity. ‘You gotta job there then?’

Ruby nodded.

‘So you got a ticket?’

Ruby nodded again, unwilling to admit she had no such thing.

‘That’s good, ’cos there’s always a queue,’ she said comfortably, ‘and you’d ’ave ter move sharpish if you left it to the last minute.’

Ruby shot a glance over at the ticket office. There was already a queue although there were no trains arriving or leaving, and the large noticeboard nearby still had nothing showing. She thought about asking the woman if she had a timetable and then decided it was too risky and probably wouldn’t help much. If the schedules were all messed up by the raids, there was no telling what the next train might be.

She settled back onto the hard wooden bench and tried to appear relaxed.

The woman regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment and then obviously decided that Ruby’s travelling arrangements were none of her business, for she scrabbled about in her large handbag and lit a fag.

Ruby wished she had a paper she could hide behind, for conversation was dangerous, and the woman was clearly still curious about her. They sat in silence and watched the ebb and flow of the people through the concourse. There were servicemen and women, harried housewives and office clerks – all in a hurry to be somewhere and frustrated by the delay. Men in bowler hats leaned on tightly furled black umbrellas and repeatedly looked at their watches while an impatient gathering formed by the noticeboard, more in hope than expectation.

And then the noticeboard clicked and buzzed and an announcement blared out from the loudspeakers. The reaction was instant and there was a general rush to the far side of the station. The train for Clapham Junction, East Croydon and a dozen other places south of London had arrived at platform fourteen.

‘That’s me,’ said the older woman as she gathered up her parcels, handbag and gas-mask box. ‘Stay lucky, love, and mind ’ow yer go.’

Ruby watched her plod across the long concourse towards the other end of the station, her broken-down shoes slapping on the concrete. The announcements were coming thick and fast now and she listened hard as she watched the board. The next train was due to arrive in ten minutes and would be going to Margate. But having dismissed Margate after the conversation with the old woman, Ruby looked for another train.

There were several going to the London suburbs, but they wouldn’t do at all. Then she noticed there was a train due in twenty minutes and it was going quite a long way by the look of it, for there were lots of stops before it reached some place called Cliffehaven. She had no idea where that was, but it sounded as if it might be by the sea and she couldn’t sit here all night being picky. She gathered up her things, took the empty mug back to the WVS lady and hurried over to join the long queue at the ticket office.

She heard the train’s arrival being announced and anxiously looked up at the clock as the queue slowly shuffled forward. She’d miss the bleedin’ thing if this queue didn’t move any quicker, she thought impatiently. How on earth could it take so long just to buy a flamin’ ticket?

She shifted from one foot to the other as the woman in front of her prolonged the wait by asking questions and taking forever to get her money out of her purse. As she finally collected her change and continued to dither by the counter, Ruby gave a great sigh to let her know what a ruddy nuisance she was being, and eased round her.

‘Cliffehaven one way,’ she said firmly to the middle-aged woman behind the glass.

‘Is your journey really necessary?’ The reply was accompanied by a hard stare.

‘Yeah. I gotta factory job to go to,’ Ruby replied blithely.

The ticket was shoved under the window and Ruby slammed the right coins down, grabbed the ticket and raced towards the platform at the far end of the station. Her train was due to leave in three minutes, and she simply couldn’t afford to miss it.

She darted through dawdling groups, swerved to dodge porters’ waggons and piles of kitbags and suitcases, ignored clucks of annoyance, and wolf whistles from a group of sailors, and was out of breath and sweating as she skidded to a halt at the end of yet another long queue.

She could see around the bobbing heads that the train was a long one which ran right to the very end of the platform, and the announcement had said something about one half going to one place, the other somewhere else. But which half did she need? Would someone tell her when she got to the ticket barrier?

Ruby shuffled along impatiently with everyone else, certain that the train would leave without her, for she could already see the porters loading baggage into the carriages and the guard striding up and down with his whistle in his hand.

‘Rear eight coaches for Cliffehaven,’ said the man at the barrier as he clipped her ticket and handed it back. ‘That’s the lot nearest the barrier,’ he added helpfully as she hesitated.

Gripping her basket, the gas-mask box and handbag dangling from her wrist, she hurried along the platform and climbed into the second carriage. It was an open one with row upon row of uncomfortable seats on either side of a narrow aisle. Thick blackout blinds covered all the windows, and the only light came from a couple of low-watt bulbs that had been fixed into the roof.

Ruby found a space on the end of a row and sat down, the basket on her knees. ‘This is the right bit for Cliffehaven, ain’t it?’ she asked the man in the bowler hat who was sitting next to her.

He looked down his nose at her before returning his attention to his open newspaper. ‘Indeed it is,’ he replied from its depths.

Ruby kept a tight hold of her basket, not wanting to risk it in the overhead rack where it might fall off and spill her clothes all over him. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling at the thought of her camiknickers draped over his bowler hat and snooty nose, or her brassiere landing in his pinstriped lap.

She looked away and began to take an interest in the other people in the carriage, which was filling up fast. There were housewives and young women in uniform, soldiers, sailors and airmen, all with bags and parcels which they stowed away in every available space. The carriage was now so full that some of the servicemen had resorted to perching on their kitbags in the aisle while they chatted up the younger women and lit their cigarettes.

Ruby tried to relax, but she was still jittery, her watchful gaze flitting from one face to the next, in dread of spotting someone she knew – or someone who seemed to be taking an unnecessary interest in her. She had no idea how long it would take to get to Cliffehaven, but did wish the train would get going after all her rushing to catch it. What were they waiting for?

Just as the man next to her tutted in annoyance at her fidgeting, she finally heard the slam of many doors echoing along the platform and the piercing shrill of the guard’s whistle. She tensed, waiting for that initial jolt – and then gave a deep sigh of relief as the train’s whistle blew and it began to slowly pull out of the station.

Ruby felt the gentle sway as the great iron wheels got into their rhythm and the train chugged and chuffed along the rails. The waiting was over, she was on her way.

And yet her anxiety would not be shaken off and it lay heavy in her heart as the train carried her away from everything she’d ever known. She was leaving London and her mother for the first time in her life, heading for an unknown destination and uncertain future. Would she ever see her mother’s face again, or the landmarks of the city where she’d been born?

Ruby closed her eyes on the tears that threatened and silently prayed that she would return – that fate would be kind and Cliffehaven would prove to be the sanctuary she needed.

The train clattered and chuffed away from London, and at each stop there was a bustle of movement as bags and parcels were gathered up, and the servicemen who were perched on their kitbags in the aisle had to shift about for people to get through.

The snooty man beside her had gone, and now there was a young Canadian officer in his seat. She glanced at him and coolly returned his ‘hello’, but then kept her gaze fixed away from him, for the concern in his eyes as he saw her battered face was not something she wanted to discuss. He seemed to take the hint and began a conversation with one of his fellow officers.

Ruby sat and fretted over the situation she’d left behind and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. She had absolutely no idea of where she was, for although the guard had come through on each occasion to tell everyone the name of the station or halt they were approaching, they meant nothing to her now they’d left London behind. She wished the blackout blinds weren’t down, for she would have liked to see out of the window – but then it was pitch-dark out there, the stations all observing blackout, and she wouldn’t have been any the wiser.

As the train came to yet another stop there was a general exodus by the majority of the service people and Ruby could only guess it must be some large station from which they would be ferried to their various bases. The carriage was almost empty but for a few elderly civilians and the smartly dressed Canadian soldiers in their bright red tunics, so she eased over to sit by the window, the basket on the seat between her and the young officer.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said, his voice pleasantly deep. ‘I think you’ve dropped your paper.’

The bowler-hatted man must have left his paper behind. She was about to explain that it wasn’t hers, but then realised it would be something to occupy her and serve as an excuse not to talk to him. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured as she reached for it.

He didn’t relinquish his hold of the paper. ‘Are you all right, ma’am? Can I offer you a sip of brandy or a cigarette?’

She was forced to look at him and was taken aback at the brightness of his blue eyes. ‘I’m fine,’ she stuttered as she took a firmer grip of the newspaper.

His handsome face lit up with a beaming smile as he relinquished the paper. ‘I guess you’re not the sort of girl who talks to strangers on trains,’ he said. ‘The name’s Michael Taylor, but my buddies call me Mike.’