Nameless (20 page)

‘Your wonderful Charlie was on his way over to the widow Tranter’s on the night the police picked him up. Joe’s visited him and he knows.
That’s
how much he thinks of you, Betsy. He was off to see her. But you know what’s ironic? Her house was flattened in a raid and her with it.’

‘Ruby . . .’ Joe was standing up too, shooting her warning looks.

‘The widow Tranter’s dead,’ Ruby went on relentlessly. ‘And your Charlie? He’s heartbroken. He don’t care if they bang him up for a thousand years, because what’s life to him, without her?’

Betsy had gone white. She jumped to her feet.

‘This is all
lies
,’ she yelled, and lashed out, striking Ruby hard across the cheek.

Ruby recoiled. Her cheek turned red where she’d been struck. But she straightened and stared coldly at her friend.

‘It’s not lies, you fool. It’s the truth. He’s not worth your tears, he’s not worth
that
.’ Ruby snapped her fingers. ‘He’s betrayed you a dozen times over; he’s a worthless conniving piece of shit.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Ruby,’ said Joe. Betsy was sobbing, racing for the door.

‘It’s not
true
,’ she shouted back at Ruby.

‘Yeah. It is.’

‘You’re not my friend any more,’ yelled Betsy as she grabbed the doorknob. ‘Don’t you ever talk to me again, you lying bitch!’

‘Happy now?’ asked Joe, as the door slammed shut behind Betsy.

‘Do I
look
happy?’

The broom handle was banging on the wall. Dad needed attention.

‘Better get in there,’ said Joe, his face thunderous.

‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, and went into her father’s room to see what he wanted.

Joe dashed out into the street after Betsy. He caught up with her on the corner.

‘Bets!’ He grabbed her arm, pulled her round. Her face was streaked with tears.

‘Is it true?’ she asked him.

‘Bets, don’t . . .’

‘Come
on
. I want to know. Is any of what she’s saying true? People were talking about it weeks, months back. Charlie and the widow Tranter. And I asked you about it. You remember that, Joe? I asked you, and you said it was ridiculous, and
I
thought it was ridiculous too. Just stupid. That ugly dried-up old mare, and Charlie? Stupid. But . . . was it true?’

Joe stared at her face. He’d always liked Betsy. She was lively, she was fun. He was a serious, somewhat shy man and he found her liveliness beguiling. But . . . she’d always been his brother’s girl. Now that could change. Charlie hadn’t been interested in her much, not really. But Joe was. He always
had
been.

‘It’s true, Bets. I’m sorry,’ he told her softly.

‘
No!’ she flung herself into his arms.

Joe held on to her while she sobbed out all the hurt Charlie had caused her.

‘Oh God, Joe, they won’t take you too, will they?’ She looked up at his face, and he thought how pretty she was, even red-nosed and tearful with her lovely eyes wet and bloodshot.

‘No, Bets. They won’t take me too,’ he promised her.

‘I couldn’t stand that,’ said Betsy, and buried her face in his chest. She clung to Joe like a rock. She
liked
Joe. And, after all, he had
his
share of the Post Office money somewhere – didn’t he?

‘They won’t take me, Bets,’ he repeated, holding her close.

But his promise could be an empty one. He knew it. The police were watching him. And he strongly believed that other people were too, blokes mixed up in the same sort of stuff as him. Without Charlie, he knew he was a sitting duck. But he wouldn’t run. Especially not now.

50

Charlie Darke got thirty years for the mail van robbery, but the cash was never recovered. No one came for Joe. Charlie had seen him right. But Joe had other worries. Dad’s will to live was severely weakened by the absence of his favourite child, and one night Ruby was bringing in his cocoa and dully wondering what had become of her life when she found him unconscious. Much as she tried, she couldn’t rouse him. And his breathing was odd, wheezing and rattling in his chest.

She called Joe in.

‘Better fetch the doctor,’ he said, and left her with the old man.

Ruby sat there and watched her father. She felt no love for him. She was certain he felt none for her. No more could he tower over her with his belt, no more could he inflict pain on her. She had never known a moment’s kindness or tenderness from this sad wreck of a man, and now, when he was slipping away from the world, she couldn’t even bring herself to feel sorry.

She’d lost her babies. Ever since that awful night, she’d been consumed by misery. She’d been abused by men all her young life. Only Joe hadn’t crossed her – but, being Joe, anything for the quiet life, he had stood idly by while Charlie and her father dealt out random smacks and more extreme punishment. He had never tried to intervene, and that hurt her. All the men she had ever known had hurt her.

But no more.

She stared at the pathetic remnants of her father and swore it. Now she was going to carve out her own path. No longer was she the quiet, gentle girl. Now she was a woman. She had suffered. And her suffering had forged a core of cold steel in her soul.

The doctor arrived, shooing her out of the way. He bent over the old man, checked his heart, while Joe and Ruby looked on.

‘I think it’s the end,’ said the doctor, drawing back, putting his stethoscope away. He looked at them both. ‘You should prepare yourself for the worst. I’m sorry.’

51

Ted Darke died that same night and was buried a week later, with no pomp or ceremony, beside his late wife Alicia. It was a simple funeral, attended by Ruby and Joe, plus a few of their father’s old church friends. Betsy came, much to Ruby’s surprise, and although she didn’t exchange one word with her former friend, she clung on to Joe’s arm throughout the ceremony and afterwards, out in the windy graveyard, she was there again, hanging on to Joe.

So that’s the way it’s going,
thought Ruby.

She wasn’t surprised. Ruby wasn’t blind to Betsy’s faults. Bubbly and supposedly warm-hearted, Betsy was in fact the ultimate opportunist. With Charlie out of the picture, naturally she turned to Joe. The Darkes still had a certain air of notoriety – and Joe was in charge of what had once been Charlie’s mob now. Joe would be easier for Betsy to manage. Joe wouldn’t be unfaithful. He just wasn’t the type. And also, there was the matter of all those many thousands of pounds taken in the mail van heist, still unaccounted for. . .

Ruby managed to get through the tea and sandwiches back at the house, and was heartily glad when the last of the guests departed.

Finally, her and Joe were sitting alone at the kitchen table and night was drawing in. It seemed to her that a line had been drawn under everything. The war was over. Her babies were gone. Dad was gone. No more would they hear the broom handle banging on the wall. Their dad was dead, and Charlie had been put away for a long, long time.

‘You. Betsy,’ said Ruby curiously. ‘Is it serious, Joe?’

Joe shrugged. ‘Think so. Yeah. I know she was with Charlie, but I’m falling for her. She’s good for me.’

Ruby stared at her brother. She doubted that, but still, if it made him happy, why not?

‘You’re not a bad man, Joe.’ She sipped the whisky he’d poured them both. It was true. He was the better of the Darke brothers. And miles better than their drunken, God-bothering father had ever been.

Joe held up his glass in one meaty fist. ‘To Dad,’ he said.

Ruby clinked her glass against his. ‘Yeah.’

They both drank in the silence of the night. No more bombing raids now. No more Dad. No more Charlie. The future stretched ahead of them, a blank canvas onto which they could write whatever they wished.

‘It’s been rough on you,’ said Joe. ‘Getting caught out like that. The kids. You know.’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Ruby. Her little girl was with her father, anyway. She’d be raised as a right little princess, spoiled to bits. Her little boy . . . a friend of a friend, Charlie had told her. At least he would be safe. At least he would be with a family, not condemned as a bastard with a disgraced woman to bring him up alone and unaided.

‘Did Charlie tell you who had him? The little boy?’ she asked hesitantly.

My son. My precious, beautiful boy.

Joe shook his head. ‘No. He didn’t.’

Joe felt bad lying to her. Charlie
had
told him what happened to the kid. Even hard-hearted tough-as-nails Charlie had been troubled by it, and telling Joe had almost been like a confession for him. But Joe wasn’t ever going to tell that to Ruby. It would kill her, break her heart into bits. He was going to carry that grisly secret to his grave.

Ruby finished her whisky. It burned, all the way down. Seemed almost to cauterize, just for a moment, the pain that was always there in her heart. But only for a moment. Then the pain, the dull forever
ache
of missing her babies
,
was back again. She would learn to live with it. She had to.

‘What you going to do then, Rubes?’ Joe asked. ‘Go back to the Windy? I know you said you wouldn’t, but . . .’ he hesitated.

But that was just after the babies were born, and you weren’t in your right mind
, Ruby finished for him.

And he was right. She’d been demented, hysterical and grief-stricken.

‘No. I won’t go back there,’ she said. What for? To stand there like some sort of
object
, and let men ogle her, make use of her again? No, she wouldn’t do that. It seemed to her that women were either shagged, shot or shat on, in this world. And she’d had enough of it. She wanted to make her own rules, not live by those imposed by someone else, just because they had a dick and she didn’t.

‘How about you?’ she asked Joe. But he just winked. She knew the answer anyway. He would go on with his dodgy dealings and he would probably marry Betsy. And probably, one day, he would end up in the nick – just like Charlie.

‘I might get the shop up and running again,’ said Ruby. She had been thinking of it for a couple of weeks now, and it made sense. She had the money from Cornelius; blood money for her baby girl. She shuddered to think of that. Felt like shit about it. But it was done. All she could do now was carry on, somehow.

Joe looked at her in surprise. ‘What, you? Run the shop?’

Ruby shrugged.
Run the shop
. It had a nice sound to it. She would be in charge for once. She could organize everything, just as she liked it. She was
good
at doing that.

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been having some thoughts about it. Why do just groceries? I think we should sell pins and needles, and tablecloths and stockings . . . and I’ve been thinking about taking over a market stall in the Portobello Road too, calling it a Penny Bazaar.’

He raised his brows, tilted his head and stared at her. ‘Yeah, why not? If it makes you happy.’

Nothing would do that. All she could do now was go on. Do her best. Fill the void, somehow. Hold herself together. What else could she do?

Now someone was banging on the front door.

Tiredly, Ruby hauled herself to her feet and went through to answer it. She found Vi standing there, all glammed up as always. Vi gave her a brilliant green-eyed smile. There was a car at the kerb, its engine running, a chauffeur behind the wheel. The car looked suspiciously like a Rolls-Royce.

‘
Wondered
where the hell you’d got to,’ said Vi. ‘Ready to rejoin the world yet?’

‘Well, I . . .’

‘Oh, I think so,’ said Vi. ‘War’s over, babes. It’s way past time.’

She was right.

Time for Ruby to rejoin the world. This time, on
her
terms.

BOOK TWO

52

1965

‘God, Joe – she’s beautiful!’

Since that awful day when her babies had been taken from her, not a minute had passed when Ruby didn’t long to hold them both. Now here she was, holding Joe and Betsy’s firstborn – her niece – and the pain of it was killing her.

Joe and Betsy had married not long after the end of the war, and it had seemed like they’d
never
have their yearned-for kids. But now – at last – it had happened. So Ruby had to force herself to smile, to behave as if she was delighted for them. She
was,
really. But it still hurt her to see their joy.

‘What are you going to call her?’ she asked her sister-in-law, who lay back on the pillows, her usually immaculate blonde hair all over the place. Betsy looked exhausted, but radiant.

‘Nadine,’ said Betsy.

Ruby gazed down at the slumbering infant, inhaling the sweet powdery smell of her.

Oh God – my babies . . .

‘Were you in labour for long?’ she asked.

‘No, it was very quick. Four hours.’ Betsy managed a taut smile for her sister-in-law. They had never rekindled the friendship they’d lost during the war, but she was married to Ruby’s brother, they were
kin
– they had to be civil to one another.

‘She’s a marvel,’ said Joe, holding his wife’s hand and staring at her with loving eyes.

Ruby thought of her own labour, the doodlebug going over, her fear that they would be hit, that her babies would be killed even before they’d drawn breath. But they had survived. Now her daughter was with Cornelius and his family, named and raised by them. Her son . . . she had no idea. Charlie had never told her what had become of the little boy, only that he would be cared for.

She gave Betsy flowers, hugged Joe and congratulated him. She stayed for an hour – the longest, most tortured hour she had endured for years. Then she left, and went home to her solitary, luxurious flat above what had once been Dad’s corner shop: now it was a big store. The emerald green ‘Darke & Sons’ sign was long gone. Now the sign was huge and burgundy-red, with DARKES picked out in black-outlined gold. The same signage appeared over the entrance to all her shops, on the bags and food packaging, and soon – if the wholesalers kept pissing her about like they were – that same name would be on the labels of the clothing range too. She had some plans for that.